Moving On
by Casscaro
Summary: Set post-AtS "The Girl in Question". Final chapter (unless there's a sequel:). Thanks to everyone who read, enjoyed and left feedback. You are all wonderful.
1. Default Chapter

She loved to dance. She loved to let the throb of the music fill her mind until it was all that was left, to let her body move to its rhythm. It helped her stop thinking. She looked over at her partner with a smile. He danced well. He did everything well. And he was so beautiful; she still got a kick out of the envious glances from other women. Tall, well muscled, latin-black hair and smouldering brown eyes - exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted because he was the complete opposite of... she pushed back the thought and concentrated hard on the music. No thinking. Dance. He looked up and flashed her a perfect smile. Dance and look at the pretty man smiling just for you. Dance and let it touch you.

His eyes wandered across the dance floor, scanning the other dancers, the people at the bar, ever watchful as a man in his position needed to be. He paused and a slight frown creased his perfect forehead. She looked quickly in the direction of his gaze. Nothing to see – a crowd of gyrating bodies, sweating in the Italian heat. But then... she felt her heart freeze in her chest. A sudden flash of platinum blond in the dimness, a hint of a slim body and a flowing black leather jacket, gone in a second among the crowd. She pressed her eyes shut and swallowed hard on the pain. She kept hoping she would get over this, that she'd stop seeing him everywhere, catching heart-rending half-glances across crowded rooms, in the street, in her dreams.

London had been the worst. There were reminders on every street corner – a word, a gesture, an accent that made her heart leap with hope despite herself. She'd mastered the hope, eventually. He'd gone and she'd accepted that – mostly. She'd had to, because too many days spent half-searching and nights broken by dreams of burning hands and falling walls were beginning to destroy her. So she'd worked hard on putting it behind her, and eventually Giles and Dawn had stopped whispering in corners and watching her every move with concern. Rome had been Giles' suggestion and he'd been right. No memories here, no links, fewer reminders. But occasionally, just occasionally...

When he looked back over at her the frown was gone and she forced her frozen features into a smile. When he suggested that they should maybe go somewhere else, find a little quiet space, she agreed readily. He took her arm and led her out of the room to the sound of a brawl starting in the background. The thought that he had always enjoyed a good fight surfaced in her treacherous brain.

Later, in the tastefully expensive hotel room he'd chosen – well, Andrew in the next room kind of killed the mood – she tried to lose herself in this perfect man with his perfect body and perfect technique. He played her like he played the piano, gentle fingers, perfect control, perfectly pitched passion, each note mastered. He knew exactly where to touch her, what to do, how to bring her to the climax her body craved, and didn't seem to notice, or at least to mind, her single-minded pursuit of oblivion. He was good - but he didn't really know her. He didn't really know the dark little secrets she held inside, couldn't bring her to the mind-numbing, shuddering heights that she had reached at someone else's hands. But he was good, so she had to be careful; she couldn't lose herself too much. It wouldn't do to cry out someone else's name.

Later still, resting against him, body relaxed and mind calmed, as he called her _cara mia_ and spoke of love in purring Italian – she didn't believe him; whatever this was it wasn't love, she knew about love – she could pretend she was over everything, that the memories of fire and pain and the agony of loss were becoming bearable. That she could, maybe, find someone else who might rekindle the spark in her empty heart and touch her soul like he had. Maybe not yet, but someday. She sighed and kissed his perfectly sculpted chest. She was moving on.


	2. Two

He drove her home in the small hours, the red Ferrari growling softly through the almost deserted streets. Ever the gentleman, he opened the car door for her and took her arm to guide her to her apartment. Part of her liked this being treated like a piece of delicate porcelain, but mostly it was beginning to annoy her.

She scanned the shadows for her watcher. She'd known for months that she was being watched. Difficult thing, watching a slayer and staying hidden; slayer senses were hard to avoid. She had told him about the lurking figures and he had set one of his men to find out, discretely, who was sending them. Wolfram and Hart, he told her, on Angel's orders – did she want it stopped? No, she'd shrugged, let them watch. She was perfectly happy for Angel to know what she was up to. She gave a short smile as a shadow shifted in a dark doorway, then frowned. The tingle at the base of her spine told her this time it was a vampire. First time they'd sent one of those. Whatever – Wolfram and Hart being what it was, they had all sorts of low life working for them. She turned to her partner with a smile and drew him down into a deliberate and lengthy kiss. There. Go tell that to Angel.

She let herself into the apartment quietly. Andrew was back, snoring softly in his makeshift bed on the sofa. Buffy smiled at the lingering smell of an unknown perfume - he'd been out with a girl. He was resolutely dating girls at the moment, ever since that cute little Italian guy had turned out to be an Incendo-demon who had torched his flat. She wondered how long this spell of blatant heterosexuality would last. He shifted in his sleep, muttering to himself – random Italian and English, senseless words except... a name. So, Andrew dreamed of him, too. Well, she'd always thought he had a bit of a hero-worship thing going, maybe even a crush. Andrew tried to be subtle, tried not to mention his name in front of her as Giles had asked, but subtle wasn't always Andrew's strong point, and actually, she'd rather have his innocent slips than Dawn's careful avoidance of the subject. He'd been worse since he brought Dana back – the slips happened more often, as if the trip back to the US had reawakened his memories. There had been secretive telephone calls with Giles, over-loud changes in subject when she came into the room, over jolly exchanges about nothing in particular. She had eyed him suspiciously and he had bolted from the room. So, something had happened in LA that she wasn't to be privy to, but frankly? She didn't much care. There was nothing in LA to interest her any more.

The shower was cool on her overheated skin. She let it play over her body, washing away the sweat and smell of sex – she frowned. Did he sweat? She wasn't sure, even in the heights of passion, she had ever seen him do anything as inelegant as sweat. In the mornings, despite any excesses the previous night, his hair was always just charmingly ruffled, the perfect amount of stubble on a perfect chin, breath fresh, bright-eyed and smiling. Had no-one ever told the man how _annoying_ that was? She smiled to herself. But then – it did make him kind of nice to wake up to. She stepped out of the shower and picked up her towel.

She had put on weight – a lethal combination of less exercise and a love of pasta and real Italian pizza – but she was happy with her new shape. Hey, she even had breasts! Kind of nice ones too - she admired her new curves in the mirror and turned to look back at her reflection over her shoulder - and a bum, she gave a wiggle, slipped on a robe, and wandered into her bedroom. Her skin had taken on a golden glow now she was spending more time in the daylight and less stalking night-time graveyards. She was looking good, everyone told her, and yes, generally she was. But the smile was less easy, the green eyes more introspective and shadowed. She'd changed.

Despite the lifting of responsibilities, her relieved acceptance that she could, at last, step down and let others take up the good fight, sometimes she felt weighed down, weary beyond her years. She'd stopped training, stopped patrolling, stopped feeling the pull of the dark. When she felt ready, Giles had said, the reforming Council had work for her – a slayer of her experience was rare, a valuable asset, and sharing that experience would help them all. But she wasn't ready – not to relive her past for the chroniclers who didn't know her and could never understand. She knew what they thought of her – the slayer who loved the vampire... _vampires_... and who went against all she should be. She leaned her forehead against the window looking out into the dark square. They really didn't understand what they were asking her to do.

Night was the hardest, the time when the memories were strongest, and when, alone in her room, she would allow them to come. She could conjure up his image in the moonlight reflecting on the glass, in the play of candlelight on the wall, in the folds and hollows of her pillow; sometimes so real she felt she could touch him. But as time went by she began to worry. She had nothing of his. No keepsake, no picture – all of what he had been was buried at the bottom of the Hellmouth. And what if... what if her memory, her picture of him, began to fade? What then? The others refused to talk about him, had wiped him from their world to save her pain. Would she lose him? Would he fade away? So sometimes at night she would let the pictures come, because although they hurt, she couldn't bear the thought of losing them forever, for all he did to fade to nothing. She blinked back a sudden tear, and leant forward to shut out the night.

The watcher in the shadows saw the shutters close, and then slipped quietly away, leaving the broken, drained body of Angel's agent in the doorway.


	3. Three

The shrill, persistent ringing of the telephone cut through Spike's sleep. Growling, he picked up the receiver and rapidly replaced it, cutting off whoever was calling. He settled back under the covers and was beginning to drift back to sleep when the phone rang again. This time he left the receiver lying beside the telephone. With a contented grunt, he closed his eyes.

The phone rang again. He sat up quickly, eyeing the phone suspiciously. The receiver was definitely off the hook, so why the hell was it ringing? He picked it up carefully.

"Hello?"

"'Ello? Spike! _Come sta_? 'Ow are you? Still so 'andsome, yes?" the booming Italian voice made Spike wince and he moved the phone away from his ear.

"Wha..."

"It's me! Ilona. Ilona Costa Bianchi. You remember me, huh?"

"I..."

"Sure you do! I hear that The Immortal got you your 'ead back. Is good, no? So all is peaceful in Los Angeles or at least as peaceful as it ever is! Those Americans – so quick with the violence. Not like we Europeans, huh?"

"I..." Spike began again.

"It was so good to see you in _Roma_! I'm so sorry your trip was... a bit eventful. You must come back again soon and see how friendly we can be, yes?"

"I..." he gave up.

"_Va bene_." Ilona barely paused for breath. "Listen, is good to chat with you, but down to the business. We have a leetle problem. There is a renegade in town. A friend of yours, I'm thinking. She is... 'ow you say in English... completely bonkers." Ilona chuckled with delight. "Such a wonderful language! But not so much for the making love, no? For that you need the Italian. _Ecco_. She is causing... one or two leetle problems 'ere in Roma. We could just eliminate her naturally, but I know that she is special to you, and to Angelus too, so we think, maybe you like to come over and... sort her out."

Spike's befuddled brain struggled to keep up with the woman's rapid-fire, heavily accented English. "Special? Wha... you mean Buffy?"

Ilona laughed. "No! No! The slayer? Oh, no! She is not a problem, you know, especially now she and the Immortal are _innamorati_, no?" Spike winced as Ilona went on. "No, this one, she is _vampira._"

Spike felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach. "Dru."

"Si. Drusilla. She is being a very naughty girl, so maybe her man should come and show her the errors of her ways."

"I'm not... "Spike paused. Rome, huh? "So you want us to..."

"No, no, no!" Ilona interrupted him, "I think maybe we don't need to bother Angeloos..."

"Angel." He corrected her automatically.

"Oh, yes, the soul. Filthy gypsies! Pah! We shall speak of them no more. No. Is a small thing, maybe, but it would be a great service to us. And you get the chance to come back to _Italia_." Her voice dropped seductively. "And maybe I can show you a leetle of the real _Roma_... a leetle bit of the Italian _amore_, huh?"

"Err... right... thanks..."

"_Prego_. So, you come soon, yes? _Va bene. Ciao, bellissimo. Arrivederci_. Kiss, kiss."

Spike sat for a moment in stunned silence staring at the telephone. "She seems nice." He said eventually.

"GIT!" Spike followed Angel along the corridor of Wolfram and Hart, duster flapping.

Angel stopped and turned to him with an exasperated sigh. "Spike, I am not letting you take my jet."

"Company jet! It's the bloody company jet! And I'm part of this company, for better or worse, so I should get the jet." He faced up to Angel, jaw set stubbornly.

But Angel had Spike beat in the stubborn department. "No." He turned away and stalked off into his office with Spike in close attendance.

"So how am I supposed to get to Rome? That Italian bird wants me over there, do a bit of company business for her, so you got no right to stop me."

Angel sat down at his desk, ignoring the younger vampire and began to read his mail. "If she wants you, she can send her own jet."

"She can't." Spike scowled and perched on the edge of Angel's desk, arms folded. "Someone hijacked it. Holding it to ransom or something." He glared down at Angel. "I know what this is. You're jealous."

Angel looked up with a pained expression. "I'm what?"

"Jealous! Because she called me, not you. Trusts me, she does, and you don't like it."

"She wants you to sort out Drusilla. It's hardly an international incident."

"Jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

Spike snorted and looked off into the distance. "Are too."

"Spike..." Angel ran his hand over his face, sighing. "If I loan you the jet will you promise not to come back?"

Spike grinned widely. "That's the spirit!" he rubbed his hands together. "Where are the keys?"

Angel gave him a long-suffering look. "I'll arrange things."

"Just make sure the bar is well stocked. See if you can get some full size versions of those silly little itty bitty bottles. And a decent in-flight movie. Didn't think much of your choice last time – I mean, _Legend_?"

"It wasn't one of mine!" Angel looked away in obvious embarrassment. "Someone must have left it in there."

"Look mate, you wanna ogle Tom Cruise in shorts, that's fine by me. Personally, I like something with a bit more plot... and less in the way of unicorns."

"I..." Angel pressed his lips together and shrugged, determined not to let Spike needle him. "Can you just go? Now. Please?"

"OK." He stood up. "Anything you want me to do while I'm over there? Bring you something back? Nice leather jacket maybe?"

Angel looked at him for a moment. "One thing." he said eventually. "When you're in Rome... are you intending to... will you be... Look, the whole Immortal/ Buffy thing...

"_That's_ what's worrying you? No! Over it, remember? Moving on and all that." He gave Angel his best 'trust me' look. "Just going over, sorting out whatever the trouble is with Dru, coming straight home. Honest."

"Just think it's not a good idea to face up to the Immortal on your own."

"I'm not scared of the great poof." Spike was all bravado.

"No, of course not. Just not the time right now."

"No. Quite right. I'll stay clear."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Angel sighed heavily. "Why don't I believe you? Just go. Try not to cause any more trouble than you have to." Spike grinned and headed out of the office. "And if you get yourself dusted, don't come running back to me... again." Angel called after him. "Oh, and Spike?" Spike turned in the doorway. "Here." Angel tossed him a flat package.

Spike frowned at it suspiciously. "What's this?"

"A book." Angel returned to his pile of mail. "Italian for Idiots. Enjoy."

"_Segaiolo_."

Angel frowned. "Was that insulting? That sounded insulting."

Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth and grinned. "Just tellin' it like it is, mate, just tellin' it like it is. _Ciao_."

Angel watched him go. He had half a mind to go with him, to get on the jet and head off for Rome – just to keep an eye on Spike, naturally, make sure he didn't cause any problems with the Italian branch of his operation. Not at all to make sure he didn't go after Buffy... The phone rang and he picked it up. With a sigh he settled down to listen to the latest saga of problems he had to address, the latest list of ruffled feathers that needed smoothing, the latest law case that needed fabricating. No escape, then. Half listening, he turned to his laptop and called up an on-line Italian dictionary. What was it Spike had called him? S.E.G....


	4. Four

Spike would never admit it to anyone, but flying made him nervous. He hated being cooped up in a metal tube so far above the ground, his natural energy caged, a complete lack of control over what was going on and with nothing to do to release the tension. Bloody unnatural. Despite the invulnerability and healing powers that came with the whole vampire package, he wasn't convinced he'd survive a fall from 30,000 feet. Not easy to reconstruct mush after all.

The flight seemed to stretch on forever. He'd discovered early on that his grand-sire had indeed had the silly little itty bitty bottles of booze replaced – with Mountain Dew. Spike had spent a fruitless few minutes cursing and searching, but there was no alcohol to be found. He had tried to relieve the monotony. He'd flipped through the collection of on-board DVDs, dismissing each one of them with a sneer – he'd paused at _Casablanca_, but, classic or no, that Rick? What a jerk... should never have let the bird go. He'd wandered onto the flight deck but the pilot had refused to let him take the controls, very unfairly, Spike felt. He'd flown a plane before and yeah, OK, it was a biplane, and it never got more than a few feet of the ground, and it sort of crashed, but it couldn't be that bloody difficult. Wanker.

So he'd sat and tried to sleep and tried not to think too hard about what waited for him in Rome. Drusilla. Hadn't seen her since that night he'd threatened to off her to prove his love for Buffy. He winced. Somehow he wasn't convinced she was going to be overjoyed to see him. But of course that kind of depended on quite how far into cloud cuckoo land she'd wandered. Whatever, it wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

And then there was Buffy.

He reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out a scrap of green silk. He wrapped it around his hand, watching the shift of colours in the light filtering through the window. What was it she called it? A scrunchie. That was it. He'd got it – actually bought it; stealing it didn't feel right – for Buffy. He'd chosen it because the shifting greens in the shot silk had reminded him of her eyes, of the way their colour changed subtly with her mood. He remembered giving it to her one night when she'd come to him worn down by her shift at the Doublemeat Palace; awkward with the whole idea of present giving he'd half flung it at her. She taken it and looked at him with a curious smile.

"What's this?"

"It's a thing..." he gestured vaguely at her head "...for your hair. You said it kept getting in your eyes."

"You bought me a present?" a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I guess..." Her lips had twitched with suppressed laughter and he'd started to feel annoyed. "Yeah, whatever – just thought, you know, you could use it. Look, just forget it."

She had taken it out of the bag, her face softening as she turned the silk band in the light of the candles. "It's called a scrunchie." She looked at him with a soft smile – the smile that made his long-stilled heart leap in his chest. He'd die for that smile. "Thank you. It's beautiful." She leaned forward and kissed him gently.

She had worn it for days, and it had given him a deep sense of pleasure every time he saw it in her hair. It had got lost somewhere in his crypt, thrown aside during one of their desperate, bruising sessions, and he found it weeks later, long after she had told him it was over between them. Since then it had stayed in the left hand inside pocket of his duster, close to his heart (_daft git_, he'd thought as he put it there). It had survived all this time – survived the holocaust of the Hellmouth, still been there when he was dragged back from wherever the hell he'd been, even survived the bomb that shredded his precious duster. He closed his eyes and pressed it to his nose, breathing deeply. He could still smell her – despite everything her scent still lingered, faint and elusive, but still there. And it still cut straight to the core of him, reduced him to a mass of memories and pain and pointless longing.

The pilot's laconic voice over the intercom announced that if sir would care to look out of the left hand side of the plane, he'd see the lights of Rome. In fact, as a special favour, he was going to take the jet in a close pass over the city before landing on the company's private runway in the south.

"Thank you for flying Wolfram and Hart Airways." Spike muttered to himself as he looked out on the glittering jewel that was Rome at night. She was down there somewhere. With him. He frowned and tucked the silk back into his pocket. How could she? Moving on was all very well, but moving on to The Immortal? Someone should tell her a few home truths about that one, put her straight, and just as soon as he saw her... what? _What exactly do you think you are going to do, bozo?_ Spike sighed. He'd faced up to the fact he hadn't got a chance with Buffy. Like he'd told Angel he still _cared_ about her, but did he have any right to go storming back into her life, laying down the law? Given she didn't try to contact him when she knew he was back – and he had no doubt she knew, no way Andrew would keep that one secret – she clearly didn't want him in her new life, and he respected that. Honestly. Her choice, her life, and none of his damned business; didn't stop it hurting like hell though. He rested his head against the Perspex of the window, watching the lights of the city below. "_Benvenuto a Roma_." He said quietly, trying to ignore a growing sense of unease in the pit of his stomach.

On his roof terrace, The Immortal looked up at the low-flying jet with a frown.

"They really shouldn't let those things come in so close over the city." He said, passing a glass of champagne to Buffy.

Buffy leaned back in her stylishly uncomfortable chair and pressed the cool glass to her cheek. Absentmindedly her other hand caressed the smooth black leather of the chair's arm. She looked up at the plane's lights disappearing into the night sky and suddenly felt an almost overwhelming urge to be on that jet herself, flying off to wherever it was going, anywhere but here... The tug in her heart was so strong it hurt. She took a sip of the wine and closed her eyes.


	5. Five

Spike was on his feet the second the plane drew to a halt, eager to be out of its confines. The pilot took his time leaving the flight-deck, and made his leisurely way back to where Spike stood glowering by the door.

"Did sir enjoy his flight?" He asked as he began to unfasten the jet's door.

Spike glared at him. "Just open the door." He said through gritted teeth.

The pilot gave a slight smile. "Ah, vampires. Always so charming." He opened the door to a draft of warm, soft night air and gave a short bow to Spike. "Thank you, sir. Please, have a good unlife."

Spike glared at him again for good measure then stepped out of the plane and down onto the tarmac. He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. OK – all calm. Ready to face whatever Rome has to offer, which by all-pervading smell of expensive aftershave, was waiting for him right here. He opened his eyes. Two very large men wearing black suits straining over clearly muscular bodies were standing patiently beside a black limo.

"_Buano sera_, signore." The largest of the men opened the car door. "Please. Signora Costa Bianchi sends her compliments."

"And that takes _two _Reservoir Dogs rejects?" Dark sunglasses at night? Please!

"_Per favore_." The man gestured to the car. "We take you to Wolfram and Hart."

Spike eyed them suspiciously then sighed. Well, he had to get there somehow. But he wasn't convinced he trusted Ilona or her goons. He climbed into the back of the car and the two men got into the front. They drove on in silence until they hit the busier streets of the city. Eventually the man in the passenger seat turned to look at Spike.

"So. You are Spike."

"Yeah..." he frowned suspiciously.

The two men exchanged a few whispered comments in rapid Italian, and then began to laugh.

"What?" Spike glared into the amused eyes of the driver in the rear-view mirror.

"You are much smaller than we expected." The man in the passenger seat turned back to him with a shrug.

He thought about that for a moment. "What the hell does that mean?" he said eventually.

"Well, you know... William the Bloody... you and Angeloos cutting a swaff.."

"A _what_? "

"A swaff!"

"Swathe, we cut a swathe."

"_Ecco_. A _swathe _through Europe... we 'ave 'eard much about you. We just thought..." Again the expressive shrug.

"Well, you don't want to believe all you hear, do you?" Spike gazed nonchalantly out of the window. "Listen, mate. It's been a long old flight. Guy gets kind of peckish. You'd be amazed how much blood it takes, even for someone not built like a brick shit house. And you know, given I'm over here working as a favour for the boss, I don't suppose she'll mind one little bit if I stop for a snack on whoever's closest." He looked back at the man and slipped into game face with a growl. " _Lei capisce_?"

The man flinched and gave a nervous nod.

"_Bene_. " Spike shrugged back to normal and turned to stare out of the window. There was silence in the car after that.

Spike stood in reception with the same sense of unreality he had felt the first time he had been here. Bloody hell! Wolfram and Hart must have got a job lot from Evil is Us Design Consultants. Could just as easily have been in Los Angeles, except for...

"Spike!" and there she was. Ilona advanced on him, arms out-stretched, cleavage struggling against the bounds of a tight fitting black dress. "_Come sta_? Did you have a good flight?" Ilona grasped him and pulled him towards her, enthusiastically kissing him on both cheeks. "I'm so sorry we could not send you our jet. We still do not have it back." She gave an exasperated snort. "You know 'ow it is 'ere - this is a civilized country. We do these things all the time. Somebody steals a plane, somebody pays the money. Everybody goes home happy. _Grazie. Prego_ . Kiss-kiss. Only this time no kiss-kiss. They take the money, but they do not give back the plane. Is so dirty tricks, no?" She raised her arms. "Dirty tricks by dirty people. Like gypsies. Pah! We will speak of them no more."

She took a step back and looked at Spike with a wide smile. "Let me look at you. Oh, so 'andsome! You define 'andsome!" She pressed her hands to her chest. "Still you take my breath away! Still I 'ave no breath! So good of you to come over to help us with our leetle problem. You come so far to help us! Such a gentleman! You are the very meaning of the English gentleman!"

"Yeah. Right." Spike was once again reduced to bemused incoherence.

"But there is time for that later. You must come and eat and drink. It is midnight – the night is young! There is plenty of time for the problems _domani_. Come – let me show you Italian hospitality. My home is your home." She paused and then laughed. "Or in this case, my office is your office! Come! Pietro?" This to the man at the desk as they passed "_Non osare disturbarmi a meno che non sia un'emergenza. Capito?_ "

"_Si, signora_." Spike didn't much like the knowing smirk the man gave him as he followed Ilona, a little nervously, into her office.

"Please, make yourself as though you were at home. You like some blood, maybe? You want, we will get it for you. You prefer particular type, maybe? Maybe a leetle virgin blood? I hear virgin blood, she is a bit of an aphrodisiac, no?" Ilona gave a seductive smile. "Italia is a good Catholic country so - if you want a virgin, we give you a virgin. We give you two virgins, in fact, because this is our way..."

"No!" Spike interrupted hurriedly. "Beer would be just fine."

"No virgin blood?" Ilona looked slightly disappointed. "Oh. OK – beer then." Ilona opened the fridge door and peered inside. "We have a leetle drink." She picked out a bottle and turned back to Spike with a wide smile. "And we have a leetle... 'ow you say... chin wag." She chuckled. "Ah, English! You are so funny!" She handed the beer to Spike, poured herself a large glass of wine and curled up next to him on the sofa. "Now," She took a sip from her wine. "Tell me all about yourself..."

Ten minutes later, Spike was beginning to feel as if he had been run over by a steamroller, and the conversation, if it could be called that given Ilona did the vast majority of the talking, had somehow moved on to Angel.

"So." She took another sip of her wine. "You and Angeloos... sorry... Angel..." she muttered under her breath "_Zinagri_! Pah!" and then smiled at Spike. "You 'ave been together for many, many years, yes?"

"Off and on." Spike watched her suspiciously.

"But you know him well, huh? After all, you and he, you were _frocio_, no?"

"Froc...?" Spike searched his limited Italian vocabulary for that one. "Hell, no!" he blustered.

Ilona shrugged. "Is no problem, you know. _A ciascuno il suo_. To each his own."

"Yeah, well maybe, but not me and Angel...!"

"Oh?" Ilona gave a shrug. "Va bene." She smiled and raised an eyebrow at Spike. "But 'ow he could resist, huh?" She moved closer to him and rested a hand on his thigh. Spike pressed himself further into the corner of the sofa and took a deep swig of his beer.

"We were all..." Ilona paused, and looked down at her hand, her fingers tracing small circles on Spike's leg. "...a leetle surprised, you know... when the Senior Partners offered Angel his position," her voice was low and seductive "But even more surprised that he took it." She looked up at Spike from below lowered lashes. "You must have found it surprising too, huh?"

"Well, wasn't exactly around..." Spike continued to watch her uneasily, intensely aware of the ever upward moving fingers.

"No, no, but you and he... you must talk, huh?"

"Not so much..."

"Ah, but you are his right hand man, no? Where Angel go, you go, too. So..." the circling finger was moving perilously higher. "What you think, huh? What you think Angel..."

The ringing of the phone was a welcome interruption. Ilona frowned. "You must excuse me. They know not to disturb unless is important."

Spike breathed a silent sigh of relief as Ilona removed herself from the sofa and went over to her desk. A rapid, low voiced conversation ended with a muttered curse from Ilona as she hung up. She stood frowning at the wall for a moment, then shrugged and turned to Spike with a smile. "I'm so sorry!" She came back to the sofa. "There is, as you say, no rest for the wicked." She gave a seductive smile and placed one finger under Spike's chin. "And I am a very, very wicked woman." She dropped her hand. "So. You stay here, huh? We have rooms – the penthouse is free and we give that to you for your stay. Please, make yourself as though you were at home." She took Spike's arm and ushered him from the sofa as Pietro came into the room. "Pietro will take you, and I will see you tomorrow." She gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. "_Sogni d'oro_, Spike. _A domani_."

Up in the lavishly decorated penthouse, Spike was left feeling uncomfortably uncertain as to whether it was his body Ilona was after, or information about Angel. He kind of hoped it was the information. More than happy to give that. Nervously looked around for a chair to wedge under the door handle.


	6. Six

Despite misgivings, Spike slept well enough in the comfort of Wolfram and Hart's luxurious bed. He woke slowly, relishing the feel of the fresh, white linen against his skin. The sun was high, filtering through the curtains at the necro-tempered windows and casting dapples of light over the sumptuous furnishings. Although the same basic design, this room was a world away from the austerity of Angel's LA apartment. Had to say, though, all the cherubs and religious doodads weren't exactly to his taste. He got out of bed and wandered over to a framed, red chalk sketch of a female nude on the wall. This was nice, though, and somehow, given where he was, he didn't doubt for one moment he was looking at a genuine Michelangelo. It made him wonder what exactly Wolfram and Hart had done for that particular grateful client.

There was a soft knock at the door. Spike looked around for his clothes. In vain. A thick, white towelling robe lay on the end of the bed, where he was damned sure he'd left... Frowning, he put on the robe, fastening it tightly around his waist.

Spike flung open the door with a growl. "Where the hell are my clothes?" he demanded of a startled Pietro, who was standing in the corridor holding a large, cloth covered silver tray.

Pietro smiled blithely and walked past Spike into the room. "_Buon giorno_, Signor Spike . Is a beautiful day! Your clothes, we are having them cleaned." He placed the tray down on a small table and whisked away the linen cloth. "Here is breakfast." He shrugged. "Or maybe lunch. _La Signora_, she say bring you blood. Human blood. But I say, no, I hear rumours. So, I check first with your office. With 'armony. She is very nice girl, 'armony. Very sexy, huh?" he gave Spike a knowing wink. "She say, no, no! Blondie Bear, he do not drink the human blood no more. He like a leetle otter..." Pietro shrugged. "Is not easy in Italy, the otter's blood. We had to go to the zoo..." he fussed around the tray.

"You... what..." Spike began.

"_Ecco _." Pietro ignored him and carried on. "We get you just what you want. _La Signora_, she say, we must get you whatever you want. We must keep up the strength." He stood back with a grin. "So – here is otter. Or partly otter. Otters – they not so big. Not so much blood..." he shrugged. "And also good espresso – I make it myself, no-one makes espresso like Pietro – bread, a little cheese, _e dolce_... cakes. Very nice cakes. We have good bakery. Now you eat. You have shower. We bring you clothes. You meet with _La Signora_ in one hour. _Si_? Is OK? _Va bene_. Anything you need, you call. _Grazie. Ciao_." With a bow, Pietro left the room.

"Do you lot ever bloody well SHUT UP!" Spike shouted after him.

"_Buon appetito_." Pietro closed the door behind him with a smile.

Spike glared at the door. "And who the hell stole my clothes!" he shouted. There was no reply. He grabbed the warm mug angrily from the tray and took a deep swallow. He paused and looked at it appraisingly. Actually, it wasn't half bad. With a resigned sigh he sat down to eat.

A little later, after he had taken on and defeated the fiendishly complicated shower system – how many independently controlled jets does a shower need, for god's sake? – and sneered at the wide range of expensive-smelling toiletries arrayed on the shower-room shelves, Spike wandered back into the bedroom, vigorously towelling his hair. Ilona sat cross legged in a chair by the bed.

"Bloody hell!" Spike rapidly wrapped the towel around his waist, cursing the fact he'd picked up a hand towel rather than a bath towel.

"Oh, so sorry! I did not want to disturb your shower." She ran her eyes appreciatively down his body. " _Bello_!. Beautiful like the David, yes?" She stood up and walked over to Spike. "'Ow are you today? Did you sleep well? Is nice, comfy bed, huh? But maybe a leetle large for one alone?"

"No! No... just... perfect..." Spike tried to resist the urge to back away. "Ilona... what are you doing here? I mean, in here? Now?"

"Clothes."

"Clothes?" Spike was thrown by the unexpectedly brief reply.

"Clothes!" Ilona gestured towards the bed. "See? 'andsome as you are, you cannot go around all the day wearing nothing but a small towel!" She picked up a soft black tee-shirt and held it up to Spike's chest, casting an appraising eye over the fit. "_Bene_! I 'ave a good eye for 'ow... big... a man is. Your own clothes..."she wrinkled her nose "American! Pah! They will be returned later, but meanwhile you take these. Here are trousers." She put down the tee-shirt and tried a pair of beautifully tailored black trousers against Spike's waist. "_Perfetto_! No underwear. You do not wear them." Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "I 'ave a good eye for that, too."

"Ilona..."

"Is no problem!" She put down the clothes and rested her hands on Spike's shoulders. "As I say, my home is your home! My clothes would be your clothes, but I think maybe you prefer something a leetle less..."She looked down at her chest and laughed. "We are good friends and colleagues, yes? Nothing is too much trouble!" She watched her hands as she ran them down his chest, then raised an eyebrow. "Very nice." She patted his chest, dropped her hands and turned to go. "OK – you dress, then you come to my office and we talk the business." She looked back over her shoulder. "And maybe later..." she smiled "... we have time for some fun."

As she closed the door behind her, Spike sincerely hoped not.

Spike's days spent haunting the corridors of the LA branch of Wolfram and Hart meant he had no problem finding his way around its Roman twin. The layout and basic décor were identical, but there were enough Italian influences on show in the artwork and in the stylishly dressed people walking purposefully along the corridors to make it disconcertingly different.

As he approached Ilona's office, a young woman, tall and slim with long dark hair and an English accent, emerged from behind Pietro's desk and stopped him. "Spike?"

"Yeah?" he turned towards her with a frown. The woman's brown eyes locked with his. Spike's frown deepened. There was something... She broke eye contact with a small smile and a shake of her head. "Signora Costa Bianchi is waiting for you. Please, go straight in."

Spike watched her settle back behind the desk, unsettled but unsure why. Whatever memory the woman stirred had been fleeting. He looked at her closely. No, nothing. He shook his head, set his shoulders and went to face Ilona.

Ilona was sitting at her desk looking businesslike, despite the dangerously low neckline of her scarlet dress. She smiled up at Spike. "Oh, very nice! You look _perfetto_! Show me! Do a leetle turn."

"A what?" he looked at her in disbelief.

"Show! Show!" Ilona gestured at him to raise his arms. "No need to be shy!"

Spike sighed resignedly and held out his arms with a shrug while Ilona watched him appraisingly. "You should take off the coat. Those trousers, they fit you so well! In the coat you cannot see how well. It hides your... assets, no? You have nice ass. Now to business." The sudden change in tone disconcerted Spike every time. He pulled his duster closed around him as Ilona went on. "I think you know – Angel, he has had one of our men to watch the slayer..."

"Buffy."

"Buffy. Pah! Is such a silly name! Buffy? It 'ardly strikes fear and trembling!"

"It would if you knew her."

Ilona shrugged. "As you say. So – Angel he have her watched. I think maybe you both did not like what he found, huh?"

"Is this to do with The Immortal? Is he causing problems for Buffy? Because if he hurts her..."

"No, no! Calm yourself! The Immortal. I have had dealings with The Immortal many times, and, as I tell you, the outcome is always... most satisfactory. He is..." she purred "A very nice man with who to do the business..."

Spike snorted and Ilona grinned. "You have not been so lucky, huh? Ah, yes, I remember. The leetle tax problem."

"You know about that?"

"We handle all of The Immortal's affairs." She shrugged. "But your friend... this Buffy... she has nothing to fear from The Immortal. She and he, they are _innamorati_, no?"

"Still say it's some sort of spell..." Spike muttered under his breath.

"No. We think the danger comes from another place." Ilona frowned. "In the past few days, we 'ave lost two of our people - two of our people who were watching your Buffy. Each one killed by a vampire. Now, 'ere at Wolfram and Hart, we keep a very careful check on who is in _Roma_, and what it is they are up to. It is our business to know. So – these people, they die same time we hear rumours of a new vampire in the town."

"Dru?"

"_Si_. Drusilla. We hear she come to town at the same time as our men are killed by an unknown vampire. We know she and this slayer, they have a history." Ilona shrugged "We added together the two and the two..."

"You think Dru is stalking Buffy?" Spike frowned. "I don't buy it. Dru... she's not one for vendettas. Besides," he paused "Have you met Drusilla?"

"No. But we know she is, as you say, not with a complete set of the marbles." Ilona frowned in thought. "Our informant was quite clear." She tapped her fingers on the desk. "OK. Here is what I suggest. Tonight, you watch the man we send to watch Buffy. Maybe Drusilla, she turn up – then we know for sure." She shrugged. "Is a pity we will not be able to continue with our conversation, but no matter – another night." She stood up. "So, you will be needing a car, for travelling around. I 'ave asked Pietro to organise a special car just for you, with the necro-glass. I tell him find you something sexy!" She pressed a button on the intercom and Pietro appeared in the doorway in seconds. Ilona glanced at her watch. "Is almost dark. Your slayer is a woman of habit. The Immortal will collect her in an hour from her apartment. You should start there. Pietro will show you your car." Ilona walked around her desk to take Spike's face in her hands. "You must be careful, yes? Any problems, you call me. Then you will 'ave no more problems." She dropped her hands and kissed his cheek. "We will meet again at dawn." she turned to Pietro. "You have the car? Bene."

"I 'ave found the perfect model." Pietro nodded to Ilona and then turned to Spike with a smile. "Please to follow me." Spike wasn't convinced he liked that smile.

Down in the underground garage, Pietro proudly pointed out the shinning red car parked waiting for Spike.

"You have got to be joking!" Spike said, staring at the mini in disbelief.


	7. Seven

Buffy's apartment was in the _Trastevere_ region of Rome, an area of narrow, old streets and close-packed houses. When Spike had brought Dru to Rome in the 1950's, this was a shabby, run down area, where closely packed humanity presented them with rich and easy pickings. They'd spilt a lot of blood back then – he winced at the memory. But things had changed – signs of gentrification were everywhere. The houses were smartly painted and tidy, and quirky shops, pubs and clubs had sprung up in the maze of streets. Spike parked the Mini a few streets away from Buffy's apartment, muttering curses as he disentangled his duster and uncoiled from the car clumsily. A passing group of women giggled at him and he glared at them and then at the car. Why _anyone _would think a bright red Mini made a perfect covert surveillance vehicle was beyond him.

"Nice car!" A female voice with an English accent caught his attention. "I do love Minis!" A pretty blonde in jeans and short leather jacket was smiling at him. "And you know what they say about men and their cars..." She grinned "...so any guy who has the confidence to drive a Mini..." She cocked her head. "Look, I don't make a habit of this, but you wouldn't, I suppose, be free for a drink?"

"Some other time, love." Tempting as the offer was... "Things to do."

"Oh, well." She reached into her bag and brought out a business card. "Call me." She passed it to Spike with a smile. "Ciao!" Spike watched the swing of her hips appreciatively as she walked away. He gave a snort of laughter and looked at the Mini. "May have done you a disservice, mate." He said with a grin.

"_Carina_." A man had suddenly appeared at Spike's side, watching the blonde girl and nodding knowingly.

"Yeah..." Spike looked at him suspiciously.

"Wolfram and 'art." He gave Spike an exaggerated wink.

"Riiiight..." Spike waited.

The man launched into a stream of voluble and rapid Italian accompanied by exaggerated hand gestures, none of which Spike understood. "Wha... wait... **look**..." he finally got the man's attention. "_Non capisco _pal_... parla inglese_?"

"Ahh... eengleesh!" The man smiled widely, then his shoulders dropped dejectedly. "No..." he shrugged "_Mi dispiace..._"

"Bloody brilliant." Spike's Italian was sketchy to say the least, and anyway it largely consisted of insults and swear words – he prided himself on his ability to say "wanker" in the language of every country he had visited, and a few more, including regional dialects. However through a combination of broken Italian and English and hand gestures, Spike finally figured out that this was the man sent to watch Buffy and his name was Angelo. Figured. By the time that had been established they were on Buffy's street. Angelo left Spike in a doorway and hid himself in the shadow of a building opposite Buffy's apartment, appearing only to grin hugely at Spike and give him the thumbs up. Spike sighed in exasperation. If this was the best Wolfram and Hart had to offer they were in trouble – although given that his two predecessors had ended up as vamp fodder, maybe they were just short on volunteers.

Exactly at the appointed time, a tall, dark-haired, immaculately dressed man strolled up Buffy's apartment and rang the bell. Even at this distance Spike recognised him – and hated him. No-one could be that good-looking, smart, suave, rich and well-liked naturally. Had to be the devil's work. Why couldn't Buffy see it? Surely with all those slayer powers they all kept banging on about she could see straight through him? Really, someone should put her straight, for her own good naturally, and maybe that someone should be him. Spike glared hard at The Immortal's broad back. Well, maybe when he saw her he'd do just that. Yeah, might just. When he saw her...

And then there she was, stepping into the street, looking up at The Immortal and taking his arm, all with the shining hair and sparkling eyes and smile and the... the stupid nose...

And there he was, hiding in the shadows, all with the lump in his throat and the stupid breathless feeling in his chest and the churning feeling in his gut and the sudden inability for rational thought other than... _oh, fuck_. He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wall. _What, you thought you were over her?_ He gritted his teeth and banged his head back against the wall. _Bleeding idiot_.

A low laugh drew his attention back to Buffy as she and The Immortal headed away from the apartment. She paused suddenly and glanced back in his direction, frowning, scanning the street. He ducked back into the deeper shadows. Seems the slayer senses weren't completely out of kilter, then. When he risked another glance, they were walking off down the street arm in arm. He saw the man from Wolfram and Hart detach himself from the shadows and follow them – _bloody hell, if she misses that one, she's lost her touch, _he thought with disdain. Heaving a sigh he prepared to follow them all and stepped out of the doorway.

There was a sudden crash from behind him. Spike span around and found himself looking into a pair of startled blue eyes. The tall, slim young woman with sleek, dark, shoulder-length hair stood, pale-faced with shock, her hands pressed to her mouth. At her feet, a brown paper carrier bag leaked wine on to the street. For a while Spike simply stared at her open-mouthed, unsure which of them was the more shocked. On the whole, he had to conclude, probably she was. But it was a long time before he finally found the presence of mind to break the silence.

"Hello, nibblet." He said eventually.

Dawn blinked at him and then looked down at the leaking bag. "I dropped my wine." She said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Spike picked up the same tone, waiting for her reaction. "Was it a good one?"

"Oh, you know... not a bad little Montepulciano." She nudged the soggy bag with her foot. "I was planning on making pasta..."

"Nice."

"It was for Andrew, but if Buffy's out I can sneak a glass" She looked up with a quick smile, not quite meeting his eyes, then returned to staring at the bag.

"Nothing wrong with a little Montepulciano. Especially with pasta." Spike kept his voice level.

"Yeah..." She took a deep breath and then looked up at him, forced a grin. "Hello, Spike. You're looking well... for someone who gave his life to save the world and all."

"You too... I mean... looking well..."

"You think? Because I only had my hair cut last week and I'm still not sure it's really me. Just it gets kind of hot over here and I got tired of it in my face all the time. You don't think it's too short?"

"No. It's a very nice do. Charming."

Dawn's eyes were fixed on his face and the beginnings of tears glinted on her lashes. She sniffed. "You... you want some...?"

"Hair?"

A half smile. "Pasta." The smile began to tremble. "They told me you were gone..."

"I was." He said softly.

She looked at him for a moment longer and then she threw her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. "I knew something was going on! I knew it! Andrew... all the secret phone calls to Giles and the smug, I-know-something-you-don't-know smiles..." She looked up at him with a tearful grin "... I am so gonna kick Andrew's ass over this..." she buried her head against his shoulder again "... but I didn't think... not for one moment..."

Spike held her, a mixture of surprise and relief and happiness surging through him with the sudden realisation of just how much he'd feared her rejection. "Hey." He fought down the lump in his throat. "Don't be too hard on Andrew, pet. Didn't want him telling anyone."

"Oh, but you should have..." Dawn looked up at him. "Buffy! Buffy doesn't know!" she began to rummage in her handbag. "She's with Morty."

"_Morty_!" Spike snorted with laughter.

"Well, what are you supposed to call him? Buffy always calls him 'him' and everyone else either calls him The Immortal or Sir. Has he even _got_ a name?"

"He's got a lot of names. Just none that bear repeating."

"S_cassacazzo_..."

"Well, that's one of them..."

Dawn gave a squeak of triumph and held up her mobile phone. "I'll call her..."

"No!" Spike grabbed her hand. "No." Dawn looked at him with a puzzled frown. "I don't want Buffy to know."

"Spike...!"

"Look, Dawn, it's..." Spike sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."

Dawn raised her eyes. "When isn't it?" She frowned in thought then looked at Spike. "Right. Come on in. You convince me, I won't call her. But it had better be good."

"When exactly did you get this bossy?" Spike shook his head.

"I live with Buffy. I learn by example." Dawn smiled as Spike hesitated. "Look, she won't be back. She'll be out all night... Oh, sorry." This as Spike winced. "Please." Her voice was soft and beseeching. "Spike... I... there's things..." She paused and looked down at the ground. "Don't go."

He looked down the street in the direction the Immortal and Buffy had taken. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on the stupid guy from Wolfram and Hart. Buffy was with The Immortal, and given who he was, she'd be safe. But what about Angelo? He sighed. Stuff it. He could take his chance. "OK." He smiled at Dawn. "But only if you do the pasta."

Dawn took his arm, smiling her relief through the threat of tears. "Great! I make a mean pasta." She led him across the street toward the apartment. "And with any luck Andrew will be home, and you can watch me strangle him."

"Always enjoy a bit of cabaret." Spike grinned.


	8. Eight

As it turned out, Andrew wasn't at home. In the apartment, Dawn fussed around, apologising for the untidiness, trying to hide discarded cups and magazines, straightening cushions. Spike watched her quietly. "Nice place."

"Yes. It is. Just a bit small, what with Andrew and all, but Buffy says prices in Rome... There!" She nudged a plate under the sofa with her foot. "You could sit down."

"OK..."

She sat next to him and leapt up almost immediately. "Oh! Beer! We have beer." She turned to him. "I could get you a beer." She was trying very hard to be the perfect little hostess. He knew the signs - as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof and trying to work up some courage. Little bit had something to say, and didn't know how to say it – memories of confessions, of wheedling requests, of transparent lies, of embarrassed (and embarrassing) questions during all of those months he'd watched over her. Yeah – he knew the signs.

He smiled at her "Beer would be good."

She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with two bottles, one of which she handed to him. She sat down again, threw him a nervous smile and toyed with her drink. "Do you remember the time you caught me with that beer?"

_Hiding in the yard with a bottle stolen from the fridge, some childish notion that drinking beer might make her more grown up, might make things easier. Spike in full looking-out-for-little-bit mode._

"_I should bloody well thump you."_

"_Why? You drink, seems to help you." She'd glared at him defiantly and taken a drink, wincing. Turned out she didn't much like the taste._

"_Yeah, that's right." He'd frowned at her. "OK. Go to it. Drink as much as you want. And tomorrow? Everything's still going to be there to be dealt with – only you'll have to deal with it while your head's thumping and your guts are heaving and your mouth feels like something's died in it." He sighed and crouched down next to her. "It's not the answer, pet."_

_Her lip had trembled "What is the answer Spike?" She'd looked at him, tears pricking her eyes. "I miss her."_

"_I know. Me too." They'd sat shoulder to shoulder in the quiet darkness of the yard, the discarded beer soaking away into the parched earth. _

"Glad to see it didn't put you off for life."

"Seems not."

There was a long silence while Spike waited for her to speak. Not quite ready, it seemed. "So," he took a pull from the bottle. "What you been up to?"

"Oh, you know, usual teenage stuff. Worrying about acne. Listening to annoyingly loud music. Sorting out the aftermath of the latest closely averted apocalypse. Dating boys..."

"Living ones?" he cocked his eyebrow.

"Yes! Jeez am I ever going to be allowed to forget that one!" Dawn blushed.

"Probably not."

She grinned. "Been going to school, too - where I'm rapidly becoming a valuable and productive member of society and not at all with the mindless little automaton. I can also order beer and curse fluently in Italian. Oh! And _acciughe_, that's anchovies, so I can even get my favourite pizza."

"That's my girl."

"You?"

"Long story. Long, confusing and kind of painful." He looked down at his beer with a frown.

"You wanna tell me about it?"

"Maybe... but not now." Not nearly ready. There was another long silence.

"Spike?" Dawn's voice was hesitant.

"Yeah?" he looked over at her bent head. OK – here it comes.

"I'm sorry."

Wasn't expecting that. He gave her a puzzled frown. "For what?"

"Last year. I threatened to set fire to you."

"Yeah, you did too. It was kind of scary..."

"I scared you?"

"Well, yeah..."

"Neat!" She gave a brief smile, but didn't raise her head. "It was just... you hurt Buffy."

"I know." He kept his voice level and calm as flashes of memory scorched through his mind, the red hot knife that never left him twisting in his guts.

"Xander told me." she winced at the memory.

"He did, did he?" Spike dropped his eyes – he could just imagine that conversation.

"I couldn't believe..." a puzzled frown "...and Buffy wouldn't... talk, I mean, so nobody... everybody kept treating me like a child." she shook her head. "When you came back, it was just... too hard. I thought I hated you."

"Well, I wasn't so keen on me either." He took another drink of his beer to drown the sour taste of remembered madness.

"No. I know." She paused. "Buffy told us you'd changed, that you had a soul. But the thing was..."She struggled for the words "Xander had a soul and he hurt Anya, and Willow had a soul and she nearly destroyed the world. So – what was the big deal with souls? You were kind of nice without one until Buffy..." She frowned "So was the soul-having going to make so much difference? Then... then I started to wonder. Do I have a soul? I mean, I'm not exactly with the normal coming into existence and all... so have I got one? And if I haven't and not having a soul is evil like Xander told me, then... but I don't feel evil..." She gave a wry smile. "That was about when I gave up with the thinking. See? Complicated. It hurts my brain."

"Yours and mine both, pet. Reckon it's kind of over-rated, personally."

"Thinking or the soul?"

He smiled. "Probably both." He shook his head. "You're not evil – soul or no. Believe me, I know evil."

"Oh, I know I'm not. Well, no more evil than a girl needs to be." She gave him a quick grin and then sighed. "Anyway, soul, whatever... can't see it makes an awful lot of difference to some people. I don't understand what went on with you and Buffy." She looked at him solemnly. "And I'm not sure I want to. But you were always good to me and last year you were there for all of us, despite everything. And then... at the end... Buffy told us it was all down to you."

"It was down to all of you. All I did was wear a flashy piece of jewellery." He shrugged.

"You know that's not true. It's taken me a long time..." She looked off into the distance. "We did a lot of travelling, you know, just after. And everyone was so wrapped up in their own stuff – coming that close to the end of the world kind of focuses the mind. So I did a lot of trying to get things straight in my mind. Still a way to go, and it's not easy, but... no-one said the whole dealing thing would be a party."

Spike looked at her – little bit was all grown up. Part of him ached for the child she had been, but here she was dealing with stuff that would send a weaker will screaming into insanity. He felt stupidly proud of her. "Growing up's not all it's cracked up to be. You're doing good."

"Some days." She looked down with a shy smile. "I wish we could have talked."

"Me too."

She smiled at him. "Enough with the wallowing. You want that pasta yet? And then you can give me some good reasons why I shouldn't call Buffy, because frankly..." There was the sound of someone fumbling with the catch of the door. Dawn gave a tight-lipped smile. "Oh, good!" she said "The cabaret's arrived."

She leapt to her feet, rushed across the room and pulled open the door on a surprised Andrew, key in hand. She folded her arms and glared at him, blocking his view of the apartment. "Andrew."

"Umm... Dawn?" He smiled at her nervously.

"Andrew... is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Ahh..." he thought for a moment then grinned weakly. "No... I don't think so... Unless this is about the magazines..."

"No, not the magazines. Just wondered if, you know, you'd maybe met anyone lately?"

"I meet lots of people." Andrew tried out his best "man-of-mystery" look. Dawn was clearly unimpressed. "Umm... anyone in particular?"

"Oh, I dunno... like a vampire maybe?"

Andrew glanced back along the corridor and then looked back at her "How did you know?"

Dawn pressed her lips together and took a step back into the apartment.

Andrew caught sight of Spike. "_Avete ritornato_!" he rushed across the room and flung his arms around him as he cowered on the sofa. " _Oh, come li ho mancati_! "

"Will you get off my knee?" Spike's voice was muffled by Andrew's shoulder.

"Well, somebody's clearly pleased to see you." The voice from the doorway was heavy with sarcasm.

"Oh, for... What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Spike disentangled himself from Andrew and scowled at Angel.

"Just thought I'd drop by." Angel shrugged.

"What, you were just passing?" Spike gave a snort. "What's up? Scared I might be muscling in on your ex?" He gave an exasperated sigh. "We've been through this. Moving on, remember?"

"Yeah? So why are you here? In Buffy's apartment?" Angel stood over Spike, arms folded.

"Me? Least I've got a reason to be in Rome. What's your excuse? Shouldn't you be back in LA doing evil law firm stuff and snuggling up with dog girl? Or has she found herself a new poodle already?" Spike stood up to face Angel.

"Will you stop with the dog references?" Angel glared at him.

"There's a dog?" Dawn struggled to get some sort of grip on the conversation.

"Well, some of the time..." Spike explained. "His girlfriend."

"Nina is a werewolf." Angel growled at Spike.

"You have a girlfriend?" A surprised comment from Dawn.

"Yup. Blonde, cute... nice cold, wet nose..." Spike grinned at Angel.

"Anyone mind if I smack Spike? Because I'd really like to smack Spike right now." Angel glared at Spike.

"Oh, I'd like to see you try." Spike smirked, tongue against his teeth.

"Boys! Boys!" Andrew clapped his hands and was rewarded with a glare from both vampires. "Please! Let's not fight!"

"This is turning into some sort of bloody farce." Spike stalked off into the kitchen. "I'm going to get another beer."

"Hee! Cold wet nose..." Dawn giggled. Angel glared at her. "Oops."

The sound of a key in the lock drew all eyes to the apartment door. They heard Buffy long before they saw her.

"That's it! I am so through with that man! Hasn't anyone told him how _annoying _he can be? I mean, no-one could love someone that perfect! Been spoiling for a good fight all night, and would he rise to it? Oh, no. Not him with his "yes, my love, you must be right"'s and..." She stopped dead as she finally took note of the unexpected face turned her way. "Angel!"

"Umm... hi?"

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, tight-lipped. "And you are here why?"

"That's it? That's my welcome?" Angel raised his arms. "Last time it was all with the kissing and basking..."

"Yeah? Well, that was then. Things change."

"Well, yes." Angel snorted. "People sure do."

"Which means exactly?" The glare became harder.

"Well, you know, last we talked you were all 'oh, I'm not done with the baking'. I'm supposed to wait 'til you're all cooked through. So, the minute my back's turned you're offering... cookie dough to The Immortal."

"I'm what? Oh, for... Look, the whole true love forever thing? Kind of over it. I've moved on. Maybe you should try it, because all this wallowing in the past does not exactly make for a healthy life" she paused and considered "... unlife... whatever."

"I've moved on." Angel bristled. "I have a girlfriend."

"You do?" Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, sort of..."

"Well, sort of. But then I guess it can't be easy fitting her around your demanding and oh-so-important new job. You wanna talk people changing? Let's talk Champion of the People to Evil Underling..."

"Who's evil? I'm _so_ not evil." Angel blustered "And I'm nobody's underling."

"Well," Andrew shrugged. "You're working for a big evil old law firm... kind of like Keanu Reeves in Devil's Advocate..."

"Oh, he was good in that!" Dawn turned enthusiastically to Andrew.

"Yes... but I always preferred him as Neo." Andrew's gaze became distant. "In black..."

"He was hot in black." Dawn sighed in agreement.

"Who's Neo?" Angel frowned in puzzlement.

Buffy gave a snort of disbelief. "Will you stop? What is going on here? You've come half way across the world to talk about baking and The Matrix?" The others exchanged nervous glances, and Buffy frowned suspiciously. "What?"

"Buffy..." Dawn began.

"Oh, here it comes." Buffy heaved a sigh. "Is that why he's here? What's gone wrong this time? If it's another apocalypse count me out – I've retired from the whole saving the world a lot thing."

"Nothing's... wrong... not exactly..." Dawn threw an unhappy glance in the direction of the kitchen. "Buffy..."

Buffy frowned and followed the line of her gaze. And her mind and heart froze.

"Hello, Buffy." Spike said softly.


	9. Nine

Déjà vu.

Time stopped. Heartbeat, breath – stopped.

The room around her ceased to exist, faded to black. Her vision tunnelled to where he stood, her whole world focused entirely on him.

_**He died.**_

"_Spike?"_ Unsure whether she said the words out loud or in her head. And because she had dreamed of this, because she had conjured up this image so often, she had to ask... _"are you real?"_

_**I saw him burn.**_

The floor was shifting beneath her feet, reality and imagination merging and bleeding into each other. She held on to the lifeline of his eyes, thought she heard him say _"Last time I checked. But what with one thing and another, never can tell these days..."_ hardly able to focus on the words, avid for the sound of his voice.

_**I saw the Hellmouth bury him.**_

She crossed the room as if in a dream, raised a hand slowly to his cheek. She hesitated, eyes locked with his. Very carefully, she touched his face.

_**He died.**_

Cool skin, smooth beneath her fingers; familiar contours, fingers tracing planes and hollows, the hard edge of his cheekbone, the firm line of his jaw. A finger trailing across the soft curve of his mouth. Blue eyes... _so blue_... blue eyes holding hers... drawing her closer...

_**Real. **_

He was real. _Oh, god_...

Reality hit home on black wings of panic. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest, air rushing into her lungs on a gasp of pain. She drew her hand back as if the coolness of his skin scalded her. The floodgates opened on the months of pain and confusion and loss she had carefully locked away. She was drowning. She backed away from him, pale faced and trembling.

"No."

"Buffy..." Spike took a half step toward her.

"No." She shook her head, cast a horrified glance at the faces turned toward her. "This... I can't..." With a final panicked look at Spike, Buffy fled. The bathroom door slammed behind her.

There was a long, stunned silence.

"Well," Angel was the first to speak. "You handled that well."


	10. Ten

She was sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, back to the wall, arms wrapped around her legs, eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

"Buffy?" Spike hesitated in the doorway.

"What was the crash?" she didn't look up.

"I punched Angel."

"Oh." The ghost of a smile touched her lips, but still she wouldn't look at him.

"How long?" Her voice was hesitant, afraid of the answer. "How long have you been back?"

"A while, but..."

She winced. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He dropped his eyes, stared at the floor while he mustered the words. "I did. A thousand times in a thousand different ways." He pressed a finger briefly to his temple. "In here." he sighed and crouched down near her on the floor. "I phoned you, wrote you letters, sent you poems, turned up out of the blue, posted adverts in the personal columns... thought about sending you a strip-o-gram after a couple of bottles one night." He shook his head with a wry smile. "I half hoped maybe Andrew would tell you..."

"Andrew knew?" Still she didn't look at him.

"Yeah... since he came to LA."

She gave a nod and a small smile. "Explains a lot. Giles knows too. And Dawn. And Angel. Everyone but me." There was a glint of tears in her eyes. "You didn't think maybe I had a right?"

"It wasn't that easy."

"What was so difficult? You've heard of the telephone? Wicked clever invention." Her voice was bitter.

"It wasn't that easy." He said again, emphasising the words. "You don't understand..."

"I don't understand? How could I understand when you didn't even tell me?"

He rested his head back against the wall with a sigh. "When I came back - I was... let's just say a shadow of my former self. I couldn't see you, not like that. Then I started thinking about what went down and what was happening and it just got too... complicated."

"Complicated."

"Love, what was I supposed to do? Honestly? I do the big heroic death number then just turn up 'Hello, honey I'm home!'?"

"Why not?" She fought hard to keep her voice level, to hide the bewilderment, the anger, the hurt.

"Because..." _Because why, idiot?_ "Because..." _because I was scared of what I'd find. _"Buffy, you had a right." Spike had an almost overwhelming urge to reach out to her, to wrap his arms around her; but she sat, rigid and untouchable, locking him out. "You had a right to have this normal life they all keep bangin' on about, and me? Not hardly normal. Love, you'd moved on. I turn up, it's just dragging up the past for no good reason."_ Because, honestly? I was scared you really had moved on and there'd be no place for me._

"And you didn't think that just maybe it was up to me to decide about my life? Where do you all get off telling me what's best?" She pulled back her anger, locked it down behind her brittle shell of self-control. "So, why? If you feel like that, why are you here?"

He looked at her for a long moment, at her bent head and tense shoulders. He so wanted to say the right thing – and he hadn't the first bloody idea what the right thing was. Not getting much of a clue here, other than the anger. Eventually he sighed – no option but the truth. "Angel's been having you watched."

"I know." She gave a half-smile. "Not exactly subtle."

"No, not so much. Thing is... someone's been bumping off the guys who've been watching you."

He had her attention. She looked up at him with a frown, a flash of slayer steel. "Who?"

"They have an idea... Wolfram and Hart have an idea. Seems Dru's in town."

"Drusilla? _The_ Drusilla? Oh, come on..." she gave a snort of disbelief. "Can't exactly see her as an organised assassin."

"Yeah, maybe. But fact remains someone's out there topping these guys and that someone's a vampire and Dru's in the frame." He looked over at her. "They think maybe she's after you."

"OK – so I stake her. No big." She shrugged. "How... what has this to do with you?"

"They called me over to sort out Dru. As a favour to Angel and me, because of who she is. Because of what she meant to us." He gave her a sharp look. No reaction. He sighed and looked down. "They were kind of pissed at losing their blokes. I was watching their man, Angelo." He frowned – bugger! Forgot all about Angelo. "So, I'm lurking in the shadows and I managed to scare the bejesus out of the bit and she invited me over..."

"And if it hadn't been for that..." more of a statement than a question. She gave a rueful smile.

"Buffy, I wanted to see you, but..." he shrugged and looked down.

"It was complicated."

"Yeah."

She looked over at his bent head. Her fingers ached to reach out, to touch the vulnerable curve of his neck. She fought down the urge, set her lips. "What now? How are you going to find Drusilla?"

"I dunno. First thing, best check on Angelo, make sure no-ones bitten the bait off the hook while I wasn't looking."

"OK." She hesitated. "Spike?"

"Buffy?"

"I..." She stopped, biting her lip. He waited, eyes fixed on her averted face, head tilted. Then she gave a smile and a small shake of her head. "What kind of strip-o-gram was it?" She said eventually.

_Oh. Well, what were you expecting? _He shrugged. "I thought maybe a Pavarotti-o-gram – some big fat Italian geezer singing a soppy aria."

"Nice thought with the song, but the stripping? Gross!" She looked over at him.

"Maybe I didn't think that through too carefully." They shared a smile. Buffy was the first to look away.

"You want I come with you?" Reluctant to lose him, more reluctant to admit it.

"Nope." He stood up with a sigh. "No need." he paused and looked at her uncertainly. "Should I come back?"

"I..." _You need to ask?_ "Sure. We need to get this sorted... the Drusilla thing, I mean."

"Oh. Right."

"Spike?" Her words were little more than a whisper. She stopped and looked away. "Be careful."

He nodded. "You know me..." He gave her a smile and left.

Buffy sat on, staring at the door. _Do I?_ She rested her head in her hands. He'd come back and he hadn't come to find her. Something had changed; the old Spike would have rushed straight to her side. She felt a fluttering of panic. The Spike she thought she knew, the Spike who held her and held her together during the long nights before the showdown at the Hellmouth, the Spike who told her she was the one – he wouldn't have hesitated. He'd have sought her out. But he didn't. What else had changed? Panic tightened her chest. She folded her arms around her knees and gave in to the tears.

Dawn was alone, sitting on the sofa, ostentatiously reading a magazine. She looked up at him with studied calm. "So, how'd it go? I didn't hear the sound of bathroom furniture breaking."

Spike gave her a half smile. "What did you do with the brooding one and the boy?"

"Sent them for pizza and beer." She grinned. "Oh, and Andrew wanted to see if he could find a DVD of 'The Matrix'..."

Spike gave her a surprised look. "And Angel went? Just like that?"

"His nose was bleeding all over the furniture. I didn't give him an option. Bossy, remember?" she frowned at him. "Are you OK?"

"Me? Never better." He spoke brusquely and Dawn wasn't fooled for a minute. "Just going to check something. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

She watched his back thoughtfully as he left. Something told her the two of them hadn't done much in the way of getting things straight. She sighed and raised her eyes. Oh, for heaven's sake! She was only eighteen and here she was sorting out the lives of two people who were, quite frankly, old enough to know better – and in Spike's case, _way_ old enough. She stood up. OK. Someone clearly needed to take this in hand. Starting with her sister. She looked at the bathroom door and bit her lip, then, with a sigh she went to find Buffy.

Outside, Spike scanned the street, looking for signs of Angelo, feeling frustrated and confused. What was it she'd said last year? Something about mixed signals? Well, she'd sure as hell got the hang of that one. He was left completely unsure as to whether she was pleased to see him or not. Was she pissed with him because she was the last to know? Because he'd turned up at all? Because she'd missed him? Because maybe... he pushed the thought away and gave a growl. Why did it always have to be so _bloody complicated_?

A flash of white from the darkened doorway of the building opposite caught his eye. He strode over the road quickly and then stopped. Something not right. He walked cautiously towards the dark shape in the doorway, the warm, metallic smell of blood flooding his nostrils. What was left of Angelo was crumpled on the ground. "Fuck!" Spike went to kneel at his side. He didn't hear the soft approaching footfalls behind him until it was too late, and so he had no time to block the blow that left him sprawled stunned on the pavement, or stop the sharp stab of the needle in his neck that brought deep and complete unconsciousness.


	11. Eleven

Buffy wiped a hand across her eyes and smiled at Dawn. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." Dawn frowned down at her. "You're crying? Spike's back and you're _crying_?"

"Me? No. Just allergic to this new mascara..." she sniffed.

Dawn raised her eyes in exasperation and sat down next to Buffy on the floor. She drew a deep breath. "So. Bit of a surprise, huh?"

"You could say." Buffy gave a long sigh.

"Wasn't expecting that." She waited for Buffy to make the first move.

"Nope."

"Never the one for doing the obvious. I mean, he burns up and gets buried under a large chunk of southern California and next thing you know... there he is lurking in the shadows of a back street in Rome." Dawn kept her tone light.

"Ah, well. The whole dying thing? No big. Given past experience, I guess I should have half expected it." Buffy wasn't giving Dawn a great deal of help.

"And... "Dawn hesitated. "And you're pleased to see him, right?"

"Pleased? Ah, now there's the question." Buffy shrugged and looked down, twisting a ring around her finger.

"So the ring thing will be one of those Zen non answers?"

"No. It'll be an 'I don't know how to answer that' thing."

_Oh, for heaven's sake..._ Dawn resisted the urge to scream. "What's not to know? You spent the last year pining for him..."

"I did not!"

"Did too! Just because you wouldn't talk about it doesn't mean it was clear for all to see. Even Giles noticed, and he's British. So, now he's back. What's not to be happy about?"

"It's not that easy. It's ..."

"Complicated... yeah, Spike's already done that line." Dawn gave groan of frustration. "What's so complicated? You love him, he loves you..."

"I never said..." Buffy looked up at her sharply. "How did we get on to love here? No-one mentioned love." She looked away.

"Except Spike did."

"Yes." A wry smile and a shrug. "Spike did."

_When I say, "I love you," it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try._

She sighed and pressed her hand to her eyes. "But that was then. Dawn, all that... it's a world away. Another life. Things change. People change."

"_Spike_ change?" Dawn gave her an incredulous look.

"Yes, mainly Spike. Evil bloodsucker to Champion of the Good. Big old change. He's... different. I'm different."

"And he doesn't love you anymore?"

"He didn't say..."

"And he had the opportunity?"

"Yes." Buffy gave Dawn an abashed smile. "No... I guess... I kind of gave him grief for not coming to find me sooner." She frowned. "But that's it. He didn't come and find me sooner."

"Did he say why?"

"Yes. No. Sort of."

"OK, did anything he say involve not loving you?" Dawn kept at the determinedly reasonable.

"Dawnie..."

"And you love him."

"I don't know... he..."

"Well, you do. So where's the complicated?"

"You know all those romantic novels you read? Not the real world. Love... it's just a word." Buffy sighed. "It really isn't that simple.

"Well, no, not simple exactly." Dawn conceded "I mean him with the vampire immortality and all, and you with the getting old and wrinkly for one..."

"That's not... but, yes, one of the many problems that kind of makes things less than simple. And not so much with the old and wrinkly."

"But Buffy, this is Rome. You know how everyone drives here. You could get squished next time you cross the road!"

"Oh, thank you for that!"

"Well, you know what I mean._ Carpe diem_."

"Latin?"

"Don't just read romantic novels. _Audeces fortune iuvat. Amor vincit omnia_. I got a whole fund of suitable quotes for all occasions. But my favourite? _Vita non est vivere sed_."

"OK – you know I never majored in Latin. Or minored in it, come to that."

"_Vita non est vivere sed_. Life is more than just staying alive."

Buffy closed her eyes._ You have to go on living... So one of us is living... _

Dawn grinned. "Besides, are you really going to let someone that hot get away?"

Buffy was silent for a moment. "What if he's already got away?" She said eventually.

"Then why don't you find out? You know? The talking thing?"

Buffy gave a rueful smile. "Me and Spike? Never much with the talking thing. And besides..." she paused. "I'm scared." She looked over at Dawn, tears glinting in her eyes. "I'm scared." She whispered.

Dawn sat in silence for a while. "Do you remember when... when Willow brought you back? When Spike saw you for the first time?"

_A flash of memory, of torn hands, of fear, of him at the foot of the stairs... Oh, god, I remember... how it had scared her then – lost and confused, afraid of the love that shone in his eyes when she had the taste of the grave in her throat and no right... no right... to be loved like that. Oh, Spike... what I did to you..._

"He looked at you like... like nothing else existed, like you were the only thing in the whole world that meant a thing. The look on his face." She shook her head. "I thought he'd completely lost it. On reflection, I'd just never seen... And you know something? Tonight, when he saw you? He looked at you just the same way. That's not changed."

_Another memory... of the world falling apart around them, of hands locked and burning, and despite it all... despite everything...of the love that shone from him... that had called to her and finally... finally... something had stirred in her too-long frozen heart... too late... always too late... ah, Spike... I missed you..._

Dawn watched Buffy's bowed head. A single tear dripped on to the bathroom floor.

"I missed him." Buffy said softly.

Dawn wrapped her arms around her sister. "I know." She held her tightly as the tears came and, at long last, Buffy grieved for Spike.


	12. Twelve

An hour later, Buffy sat curled on the sofa, arms wrapped around her legs, red-eyed and staring at nothing. Dawn watched her, nervously chewing her lip. Any attempt at conversation had long since failed as Dawn had rapidly run out of possible excuses for Spike's absence. Buffy has sunk further and further into silence, and now Dawn was getting worried - really worried. She checked her watch. Andrew had kept Angel away for an hour, as instructed, so they should be home any minute now and then... and then... what?  
  
"Would you like a coffee? We have some of those pastries you like."  
  
"No. Thank you." Buffy gave her a brief smile.  
  
"Tea, then. Giles always said sweet hot tea was good for shock."  
  
"No, Really."  
  
"Beer? Brandy! How about brandy?"  
  
"Dawn, I'm fine."  
  
_No. No, you're not..._ Dawn looked at her, at the pale cheeks, the lines of strain etched on her face, the brightness of tears in her eyes. "Buffy, I'm sure he'll be back."  
  
"Are you?" A frown and suddenly Buffy was on her feet, frantically searching through drawers and boxes.  
  
"Buffy?" Dawn watched her nervously.  
  
Buffy ignored her and carried on her search. Eventually she stopped, reached down slowly and picked something out. The stake felt smooth and heavy and comfortingly familiar. She ran her fingers along its length, hefted it in her hand. "I'm going to find him." She said calmly.  
  
Her sudden calmness had a brittle edge that was more alarming than her obvious distress had been. Dawn stood up and took Buffy's hand. "No! Buffy... don't. You can't just go charging off into the night alone." _Not like this..._ "Angel and Andrew will be back soon and... and then we'll all sort something out. They may have seen him. He might even be with them. Please! Don't go. Wait."  
  
Buffy turned to look at her. She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm sorry." She took a deep breath. "You're right." She sat down on the sofa with a sigh, dropping the stake onto the coffee table.  
  
Dawn sat next to her. "It'll be OK. Really."  
  
"Yeah." Dawn watched Buffy struggle for control, watched the weariness settle on her shoulders. "I should've kept up with the training." She said softly. A small frown creased her forehead. "I've forgotten who I am." She gave a sigh and rested her head on the back of the sofa.  
  
In the silence, the two women waited, lost in their thoughts.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

The sound of someone at the door brought them both to their feet. "I'm just saying – if you'd spent your whole life inside The Matrix, you wouldn't know any different, so how do you know that what you see around you is real? And that what was out there..." Andrew was having his usual problem with the apartment lock. There was some fumbling and muttering ending in an exasperated snarl from Angel and the door finally opened.  
  
Angel came in first, key in hand. "Because no-one, no _thing_, could dream up an existence this DAMN..." He turned to glare at Andrew "...**STRANGE**!" He growled and turned to face Dawn and Buffy. "Is he always so annoying? Do you know, the only thing he's talked about since we left is this Matrix thing?"  
  
"And I still say..." Andrew interrupted. A sharp look from Angel stopped him.  
  
Angel shrugged to ease the tension in his neck then turned to Buffy. "So what's with the long faces?"  
  
"Spike's disappeared." She worked hard to keep the panic out of her voice, to keep the tone level, to hold it together.  
  
A squeak from Andrew earned him another glare from Angel. He considered and then shrugged. "Like I said, what's with the long faces?"  
  
Buffy glared at him. "He went to check on the guy that _you_ had following me."  
  
"Oh. He told you about that." Angel looked abashed.  
  
"He didn't have to. Hello? Slayer? And while we're on the subject, where do you get off having me followed?" The anger was so much easier to deal with than the panic.  
  
"Well, I just... wanted to know..." Angel squirmed.  
  
"Stalking by proxy? That is really pathetic."  
  
"All right, fine." He glared at Buffy. "I'm not proud of it, but it's... I just wanted to make sure you were all right."  
  
Buffy's face softened. "Yeah. OK. Thanks... for caring." She gave an exasperated sigh. "But next time, pick up the phone. Is there some sort of vampire thing about not using telephones?" She shook her head. "Anyway, Spike told me these guys of yours were being killed off, and he went to check..." She caught the look on Angel's face. "What?"  
  
"Ah." Angel looked over at Andrew. "Thing is..."  
  
Andrew gave a sudden cry and pressed his hands to his mouth in horror. "Oh, my god! There's a body across the road! Angel smelt it out. It's all crumpled and stuff. And there was blood!" The gleam of excitement faded. "Actually, it was pretty gross."  
  
Angel gave Andrew a long-suffering glare. "Like he said." He turned his attention back to Dawn and Buffy. "My guess is it's the guy from Wolfram and Hart."  
  
"And now Spike has gone! _Mio cuore!_" Andrew clutched his hands to his chest. "Who could have done this terrible thing?"  
  
The others looked at him in stunned silence. Buffy shook her head. "What can we do?"  
  
"Umm... go see a movie?" Angel offered.  
  
"_Angel!_"  
  
"Oh, OK. I guess we need some help here." Angel heaved a sigh. "And I guess I know where we need to go to get it." He looked up nervously. "But I'm going to need backup."

_xxxxxxxxxx_

"Angeloos!" Ilona engulfed Angel in a hug. "So, you honour us again! Is good to see you! First we 'ave Spike and now you!" She stepped back, smiling widely, and pressed her hands to her chest. "I am bursting with happiness! My cup, she runs over! I hear you were in _Roma_, and I wondered if we would maybe see you here. And here you are!" She gave a small frown. "But why are you here? I am thinking that we see you only when you have the problems, no?" She gave a throaty chuckle "Is very sad, but I think true! So, tell Ilona your problems and your problems, they are no more. You have no more problems." She shrugged. "What are your problems?"  
  
"Not sure it's a problem exactly... We've lost Spike."  
  
"You 'ave lost...?" Ilona's smile faded. "Meaning?" Her voice was suddenly pure steel.  
  
"Last we saw him he went to check on our man." Angel ran a hand over his hair. "We found the man kinda... dead. No sign of Spike."  
  
"Where was this?" Ilona frowned.  
  
"Outside Buffy's apartment." Angel gestured to where Buffy was standing, stunned to silence and completely disregarded by Ilona.  
  
Ilona glanced over at her. "So! You are the one about who they all talk - the famous slayer who the vampires love, no?" She raised an eyebrow and looked Buffy up and down. "_A ciascuno il suo..._" she shrugged.  
  
"Actually, most of them aren't so keen, what with the pointy sticks and all." Buffy felt an instant dislike of this woman with her superior attitude, her expensive dress and her... chest.  
  
"And you've... _lost_... Spike." She looked at Buffy, eyes hard. "Careless of you." She said eventually. She shrugged and turned back to Angel. "Vampire kill?"  
  
"Looks like."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Hour ago... little more..." Angel shrugged.  
  
Ilona stared off into the distance, frowning thoughtfully. She nodded. "_Va Bene_. OK. Let us handle it from here." She looked at Angel and the wide smile was back. "_Ecco_. You and your... little friend, you go, enjoy _Roma_. Is a romantic city, no? A city for lovers." She gave Angel a suggestive smile. "So – go. Enjoy. Is always so good to see you, you know that, but now I must make the contacts, talk to some people, do the business." She took their arms, escorting them toward the lift firmly.  
  
"Whoa!" Buffy dug her heels in. "Wait a minute. Look, I can help..."  
  
"No, no! There is no need." Ilona chuckled. "Is very sweet of you, but, you know, we manage very well. We need to tread with the slippered feet. I do not mean to be rude, but you know, we do things differently in this country – is not America after all! Brute force will only get your precious heads smooshed." She frowned "Or maybe will get Spike killed. That I will not risk." Again the flash of steel in her voice. Angel and Buffy found themselves in the lift. "OK. We will be in touch. Now, please, relax. Sometimes you have to put your fate in a higher power." She stepped back with a wide grin as the lift doors closed. "I'll be in touch. _Ciao!_"  
  
As the lift moved downwards, Buffy turned to Angel. "Couldn't you have done something?"  
  
"Like what? You know, she's right. We're in a foreign country here, Buffy. They do things their own way. You get it wrong and it's all Grazie, Prego, boom-boom." He winced.  
  
"Boom-boom?" She raised a questioning eyebrow at Angel who shrugged and opened his mouth to speak. She stopped him. "No – don't even..." Buffy frowned at him. "So, what? We just sit around waiting?"  
  
"Well... yes."  
  
"No! No way." Buffy folded her arms over her chest and glared at Angel. "No way. I'm going to find out what's going on."  
  
"OK. Starting where?" Angel glared back at her. "What are you going to do first? Where are you going to start? Who are you going to talk to? Buffy, this isn't Sunnydale!"  
  
"I know." She set her lips and fought back the tears, suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness and frustration. "I know." She turned away from Angel as the lift doors opened and strode out of the building.

_xxxxxxxxxx_

Meanwhile, in her office, the real Ilona Costa Bianchi was very much in evidence. Gone were the wide smile and the expansive gestures; and in their place were the hard-headedness and the ruthlessness that had taken her to where she was now. The CEO of Wolfram and Hart Italy made her calls and called in her favours, and the wheels of the mighty Wolfram and Hart machine ground into action. Ilona fervently hoped it wasn't too late. And if it was... then she had the means to make life very unpleasant for everyone involved.


	13. Thirteen

Spike woke to a heaving stomach and the feeling that someone was using his skull as an anvil. He lay still, fighting down the nausea, while he gradually took in what he could of his surroundings without undergoing the pain of actually opening his eyes. He was lying on something soft (_a bed?_) flat on his back, arms stretched above his head - painfully, as it happened. He groaned and tried to move. _What the f...?_ He risked opening his eyes a crack. Handcuffs! He was handcuffed to a bloody bed! He closed his eyes again and tried to marshal his memories into something resembling coherence. Although being handcuffed to a bed largely went along with some very enjoyable memories, he was pretty sure this wasn't one of those occasions. The image of a crumpled body in a doorway finally came to mind and with it the memory of a sharp stabbing pain in his neck. Someone had drugged him – bloody effectively; whoever did it knew about vampire physiology – drugged him and brought him here. Which was... where, exactly? He opened his eyes and looked around.

Bed, wardrobe, chest – bedroom then. It's a start. Blackout blinds at the windows, puddles of light from a couple of lamps casting as much shadow as illumination, no personal items, no ornaments. As far as he could see, the only real colour in the room came from a large print, glinting on the wall above one of the lamps – _"La Vierge"_, Spike recognised with a frown, couldn't say Klimt was ever one of his favourites. Otherwise the room was a blank canvas, blandly chic and contemporary like a better class hotel room.

"Good morning." The soft female voice came from the shadows by the door.

Spike raised his head painfully. "'Morning. You the room service then? Don't like to complain, but handcuffs seem a bit of overkill. What, you worried I'd bolt without paying the bill?"

"I'm sorry the facilities aren't to your liking." She stepped out of the shadow and into the light of a lamp. Tall, slim, dark hair, brown eyes... Spike had the disorientating feeling that comes with seeing a half-familiar face out of context. He gave her a puzzled frown.

She smiled "You don't remember me."

A memory surfaced. "Wofram and Hart. You were... what his name... Pietro's stand in."

"True. But we'd met before."

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. There was something... "Been around a long time. I met a lot of people." He said carefully.

She pressed her hands to her chest and pouted. "I'm hurt! Girl doesn't like to be forgotten." She smiled. "Well, I guess it was over 50 years ago. And I'm not just saying this, but you don't look a day older."

A light suddenly switched on in the dimness of Spike's befuddled brain. "Vampire."

"Give the man a coconut." She walked over to the bed and sat next to him. "And I have you to thank."

He frowned. "Now wait a minute... I didn't turn you... I never..."

"No, you didn't. But still... You really don't remember? Mary? Not that you asked my name..." She shrugged. "June 1954. Giovanni's?" She leant closer and whispered in his ear. "You lured me with a promise of real English tea..."

The memory rushed back suddenly. He and Dru had argued, god knows what about – she'd probably been flirting with some loose-limbed Italian demon or other – and he'd stalked off in high dudgeon to get himself a drink in some watering hole in the backstreets of Rome. Pretty little brunette with a sweet English accent smiled at him, and he'd been feeling down and a bit peckish, so he'd thought... why the hell not? Took her off with... yeah, promised her real English tea... kid was homesick... down an alley and... she'd barely whimpered when he sank his fangs into her neck. He'd suddenly thought that maybe he'd take her back to Dru... little peace offering... so that's what he did. Took just enough to knock her out and dragged her home. He'd not killed her, and he'd sure as hell not sired her.

"I remember." he gave her a puzzled frown.

"Good!" She smiled sweetly.

"But I didn't..."

"No, you didn't." She gave a cat-like smile. "Drusilla did."

Right... Dru hadn't been home. He'd dumped his unconscious gift on the floor and stormed off. Spent the next few days drinking himself senseless – hadn't seen Dru for weeks. By the time he caught up with her she was well out of it – off wandering in Loopyville, talking to the pixies. So, what? She'd made herself a little playmate?

"So Dru sired you. What's this then, revenge?"

"Revenge? Good god, no! Well, not for that. Being a vampire is about the best thing that could happen to a mousey little nobody from the Home Counties. Beats marrying a banker and rotting quietly in Surbiton."

"So, what's all this about." He rattled the handcuffs. "Is this something to do with Immortal? Wolfram and Hart? Ilona?"

"Ilona?" Mary laughed. "No, although rumour has it she wouldn't mind having you handcuffed to her bed. Seems she not immune top your... manly charms."

"Well, you know, love, if you wanted my body, you only had to ask..." he tried out his best suggestive smirk.

She bent to run a scarlet fingernail down his cheek. "Pretty - but you're not my type." She straightened up and walked over to the bedroom door. "No, you're a present... for a friend. Now don't go away and I'll be back soon. Oh, and if you're thinking of shouting? Don't waste your time. No-one to hear you. Ciao, sweetheart."

He watched her leave and then turned his attention to the cuffs binding his hands. They were serious, no nonsense titanium steel jobs. Not your average porn shop versions, then. Nothing to be gained tearing his wrists apart trying to break them. He examined the bed head – heavy, iron, pretty much unbreakable. He threw his head back against the pillow and growled in frustration. She'd clearly thought this one through. He managed to struggle into a sitting position – and immediately regretted it as the small but sturdy blacksmiths in his head started up the anvil party again. Whatever she'd stuck him with, it was bloody strong. Hadn't had a hangover like this since... well, ever, as it happens.

He sat quietly, eyes shut against the heaving in his gut. Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten yourself in to. What is it about him doing the right thing that always seemed to end up with being beaten to within an inch of his unlife, drugged or fried? And how come it had only ever happened since Buffy came on the scene? Buffy. He gave a groan. He had no idea how long he'd been out; felt like hours, could be days. And he'd said he'd be back. He jerked the handcuffs in frustration. Here we go again – him and timing? Not good. About on a par with him and talking to Buffy.

He sighed and hung his head. He'd dreamt about meeting Buffy again. Like he'd said – a thousand different scenarios, a thousand carefully planned situations and carefully rehearsed words. But still he hadn't been prepared for her reaction; or his own, come to that. He'd told Angel he was moving on and he'd almost believed he was. He'd always love Buffy, of course he would; she'd changed his life just as dramatically as Drusilla had. But he'd accepted they had no future together, despite the stupid niggling hope he tried not to acknowledge. So, although she was always going to be part of him, she wasn't going to be the be all and end all any more. He'd got that straight. And then he saw her and she touched his face and the whole gut-wrenching, breathtaking, mind-numbing... _stupidity_ of it all hit him again. And guess what? Turns out it was still all about Buffy, and he still hadn't the first bloody idea where he stood with her. Moving on? Yeah, right.

The sound of giggling brought him back to himself. Seems his captor was back, and she'd brought a friend.

They came into the room together, and Spike felt a familiar lurch in the pit of his stomach, the stirring of deep, half-forgotten feelings and dark memories. Seems the girl had found her sire.

Mary was standing behind Drusilla, her hands over Drusilla's eyes. "One more step!" She laughed.

"Mary, Mary... so contrary... how does your garden grow?" Drusilla's voice was sing-song. She giggled. "What have you in the garden, my love? Silver bells for our toes? Pretty maids for our feasting?"

"Not quite!" Mary positioned Drusilla carefully in front of her, keeping her hands over Drusilla's eyes. "Now. Look." She took her hands away, sliding them down over Drusilla's shoulders and wrapping her arms around her waist. She rested her chin on Drusilla's shoulder. "Look who I found!"

Drusilla blinked and looked over at the bed. A slow smile curved her lips. "Well, Spike..." she said slowly. "What a pretty mess you're in..."


	14. Fourteen

By the time Angel had muttered a few curses under his breath and berated the folly of women in general and Buffy in specific, she had disappeared into the Roman night. He set off in pursuit, following her elusive scent amidst the unfamiliar smells of the city. Despite his advantage in the vampire-sense-of-smell department, Buffy had the dual advantages of a head start and knowledge of the narrow and twisting backstreets of the old town, and it took Angel a while to track her down. He caught sight of her in a large and beautiful square alive with the sound of water arising from a stunning fountain. Angel felt a shock of recognition. He'd been here before – a long time ago, but then, it hadn't changed. Piazza Navona, that was it. He came here with Spike, when they were tracking down The Immortal; 1894... he had a palace or something somewhere near here... probably still did... which meant... oh, _hell_.

Buffy was walking rapidly across the Piazza, dodging the few sightseers and revellers still awake in the early morning hours. Angel ran to catch her up. "Where are you going?"

"To see The Immortal." She didn't slow her stride.

"What the hell do you think he's going to do?" Angel grabbed her arm, forced her to stop.

Buffy spun around to face him. She paused and looked around as if suddenly aware of her surroundings. She closed her eyes briefly then took a deep breath and gestured to the cascading waters next to them. "You see this fountain?" Angel turned to look at it. "Isn't it wonderful? He was a friend of the guy who designed this, Bernini, way back in sixteen fifty... something or other." Buffy frowned then shrugged. "Anyway. He told me that Bernini wanted the commission for the fountain, but the Pope had given it to another artist. So he had a silver model of the design for the fountain made and told Bernini to give it to the Pope's sister-in-law. And then she persuaded the Pope to choose Bernini instead of the other guy. See?" She turned to Angel with a smile. "Powerful man. Even managed to corrupt a Pope."

Angel snorted. "No big." He muttered under his breath. "I could tell you stories..."

Buffy ignored him and turned back to the fountain. "He also told me that first of all it was going to be the four seasons, but he persuaded Bernini that the four rivers thing was so much cooler. And so one of the rivers..." she pointed at one of the semi-clad male statues that represented the rivers. "That one. See? The really, really hot guy? Bernini modelled him on The Immortal in thanks." She tilted her head and examined the statue critically. "Pretty good likeness."

Angel grunted.

"All I'm saying is... he's been around forever. He knows everything. Rome is his city. If anyone can help, he can."

"And he's going to find Spike for you? Your lov..." Angel just couldn't seem to say the words. "...boyfriend" he managed eventually "...is going seek out your ex..." once again the problem with the words. He waved his hand vaguely. "...whatever he was." He ended lamely.

"My _what _seek outmy_ who_?" Buffy shook her head at him in disbelief. "I say again... are you twelve?"

"Well, hell, Buffy, these days I just can't keep up with it!" He sighed heavily and looked away. "Do you love him?"

"We've been through this..." she gave a sigh of exasperation.

"Not _Spike_..." Angel really didn't think he wanted to know the answer to that one, not given what he'd seen earlier that evening. "The Immortal."

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the fountain wall. "No. He was just..." She frowned at the cascading water. "...convenient."

Angel snorted. "The Immortal? Convenient? You don't think maybe picking someone normal might have been an idea?"

"That's just the point. Me and normal? Turns out we're non-mixy things. The fact the Immortal wasn't normal was the whole point." She gave a small smile. "Besides, have you seen him, with the eyes and the chest and the..." She turned to Angel, her eyes soft. "I really thought I wanted normal. Until I tried it. Guess what? Buffy got it wrong again." There was the catch of tears in her voice. "I don't want normal."

"And now? What do you want now?" The moment the words were out he regretted them.

"I want Spike back." She said simply.

Despite the fact that he'd known it was coming, despite the increasing certainty that had been building in his mind, he felt winded. "Oh." Was all he could say, as the feeling he'd kept locked away since he'd last seen her in Sunnydale suddenly broke to the fore. He'd lost her. She'd left him behind.

"You sure? You wouldn't like a dog or something? At least you can housetrain a dog..." he kept his tone light, trying to hide that it hurt.

"Angel..."

"OK! OK! But look, we've got Ilona on it, and if anyone can find him, she will. Why drag The Immortal into it all?"

Buffy shook her head "I can't just sit and wait for your friends, Angel. And I can't just start trusting Wolfram and Hart."

"Does that include me?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "When it comes to Spike... yes, that includes you." She said finally.

"I'd never hurt you."

"No. I know you wouldn't." She smiled at him gently, and reached up to touch his cheek. "But you'd try and do what _you_ think is best for me. And there's no way you'd think that would include Spike."

"Well, how could it? I mean..._Spike_?" Angel raised his hands in exasperation.

"You see?" A spark of anger touched her voice. "I'm not fifteen any more, Angel! That Buffy - the sweet little thing who needed your protection - she died years ago. I'm all grown up. And now... you don't know me, not really, how could you?"

"And Spike does?" Angel's voice was pure derision. "Oh, like suddenly he's got the soul thing going on, and he's Mr. Compassionate? Just because he went out and beat up some lame demon for his doesn't make it any more special, you know."

"Will you give it a rest? You know, you're each as bad as the other! This jealous vampire crap? Kind of overdone."

"It's nothing to do with jealousy. Look, Buffy, I've known Spike for more years than I care to remember. I've seen..."

She stopped him sharply. "You haven't seen him, not really. You have no idea." She shook her head. "This is not the time or place. Let's go see Morty." She turned away from him and headed across the Piazza. Struggling with the feeling that, whatever happened, this wasn't going to end well, Angel followed her.

"Buffy!" It was the first time Buffy had seen anything ruffle The Immortal's perfect composure. He looked almost surprised. "I wasn't expecting..."

"Me neither. Can I come in?"

"Yes... yes, of course. Please." He stood aside to let Buffy pass. Angel stood uncomfortably on the threshold. The Immortal raised an eyebrow. "Ah! Vampire. The invitation extends to you too. Please enter."

"Maybe you should be more careful before you go issuing open invitations to vampires." Angel's voice was a study in politeness.

The Immortal chuckled. "Oh, I have no fear, certainly not of vampires. Believe me. Go through to the salon."

"You look... vaguely familiar to me." The Immortal studied Angel as he followed them into the sumptuously decorated salon.

"We've had dealings before." Angel's voice was grim.

"We have?" He raised an eyebrow. "Please! Sit." He seated Angel in an ornate and impossibly uncomfortable chair and folded himself elegantly onto the sofa next to Buffy. "Remind me."

"Must have been about a century or so ago... can't recall the exact date..." Angel made a show of nonchalance.

"Hmm..." He frowned in mock concentration. "Now this is strange, because normally I have a very good memory for those I meet, at least, those who make any sort of impression on me..."

"Oh, it was no big thing. Just me and a friend, hanging around..."

Buffy sighed. Well, she guessed when you'd been around as long as these two, it was hardly surprising there was a history. But they weren't here to reminisce over past times. "Angel..." she began.

"Angel?" The Immortal made a great show of thinking deeply. "Ah, the great Angelus! Of course!" He smiled widely. "How are you, my friend?" The smile hardened. "And how is the delightful Darla?"

Angel glared at him. "I'm not your friend."

"I am sorry to hear that! Come, we must not let a little misunderstanding so long ago come between us!"

"A what?" Angel's voice was bristling with menace. "A _misunderstanding_? Now look..." he paused.

All eyes were suddenly drawn to a young and very pretty dark haired man dressed in a towel who strolled through the room, blowing a kiss to The Immortal as he passed. Buffy watched him, and then raised an eyebrow at The Immortal, who gave a half smile and a shrug. She shook her head. "I need your help." She said, throwing a bemused-looking Angel a cautionary glare.

"Of course. Anything I can do, my love, you know you only have to ask." The Immortal opened his arms.

"I want you to find Spike."

"Spike..." The Immortal gazed at her with a puzzled frown.

"Spike. Vampire. Not so tall. Blond. British. Irritating." _You know exactly who I mean_, Buffy thought. "Hot." She added defiantly.

"Ah, _Spike_! William the Bloody!" The Immortal looked over at a quietly seething Angel with a smile. "Your _frocio_, no?"

"My what?" Angel growled.

"_Frocio_. You and he... your _lover_."

There was a moment of silence. Buffy raised an eyebrow at Angel.

"What? No! No way!" Angel was the picture of outrage.

"No?" The Immortal looked at him in surprise. "If you say so." The disbelief was palpable. He turned back to Buffy. "You want me to find this... vampire for you? Is this the one you think is stalking you?"

"He has a history..." Angel snorted.

Buffy glared at him. "No. This is the one I..." She stopped and pressed her lips together. "Look," she went on eventually. "He's a friend. The watchers from Wolfram and Hart..." The Immortal cast Angel a disdainful look. Angel glared back. Buffy fought down the urge to bang their heads together. "Someone has been killing them off. And we think they took Spike."

"Why?" The Immortal looked perplexed. "Why would they want to take an insignificant vampire?"

"My thoughts exactly." Angel grunted.

"This vampire... what is he to you?" The Immortal watched Buffy closely.

He..." Buffy hesitated. "He's a friend. A very good friend. He saved my life; actually he saved all of our lives. I owe him." Buffy struggled to keep her voice even. "I just want to find him."

The Immortal studied her in silence. Buffy held his eyes as long as she was able, but eventually she had to look away, afraid the truth was clear for him to read. A slight frown creased his forehead. "Very well." He said eventually. "I will find your vampire."

"Thank you." Buffy stood to go.

"You're going?" The Immortal raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I hardly think..." She gestured in the direction the young man had taken.

"Mario? Just a friend." He crossed the room to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Stay." He murmured in her ear.

"No. I don't think so." She disentangled herself from his arms and kissed his cheek. "I need to get home to Dawn. She's kind of shook up about all of this." The half-truth felt horribly transparent. "I'll call you later." She made her way to the door.

Angel followed. "Yeah. Later."

Buffy rolled her eyes and turned back to The Immortal with an apologetic smile. "Just let me get him out of here." She kissed The Immortal's cheek again. "_A presto_. And thank you." She herded Angel out of the house.

The young man came into the hall and stood behind The Immortal. "So, are you going to help her?"

The Immortal shook his head with a smile. "Listening at keyholes again?" He frowned thoughtfully. "Help her?" he shrugged and turned to the other man. "I shall certainly find this Spike. Now, where were we?"


	15. Fifteen

Drusilla leaned back into Mary's embrace. "Look at my sweet one. All tied up like a pretty present. Is he a present? Is he for me?" She cocked her head.

"Would you like him?" Mary kissed Drusilla's cheek, keeping her eyes fixed on Spike.

"Oh, yes..." Drusilla clapped her hands, childlike. "My Spike makes such a lovely dolly!"

Mary removed her arms from Drusilla's waist. "Then he's yours. To do with as you will."

Drusilla walked slowly across the room, swaying gracefully as if she were dancing. Even after all that had happened, even after everything that had come between them, even in this... _bloody stupid_... situation, Spike felt the tug of her beauty. His dark queen. So graceful. So beguiling. So dangerous. So completely out of her tree.

She sat next to him on the bed and tilted her head with a smile. "Oh, Spike," She tutted, shaking her head. "Now look. They've taken the nasty little wires out of your poor head and given you something so much worse." She pushed his shirt up over his chest as she talked and ran her hands over the smoothness of his chest, purring like a cat. Her purr turned to a hiss. "I can feel it. Burning, writhing..." she pressed a fingernail hard into his skin until a pearl of blood appeared. She smiled and scooped the blood onto her finger, licking it off with a cat-like flick of her tongue. "We should cut it out." She made a scissor motion with her fingers. "Snip-snip!"

"Don't think it's that easy, love."

"Angelus had a soul and then he didn't."

"Special case, princess. His soul pops in and out like a bloody cuckoo in a clock." Spike watched Dru, assessing her mood. "All it takes is getting a happy..."

Drusilla wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Horrid little slayer." She turned to Mary. "She took daddy, you know. Spoiled him. Made him... _weak_..." She gave a snarl. "And then..." She looked back to Spike. "She took my Spike. Took him and twisted him until he broke and he couldn't dance any more." She ran a finger down his cheek, smiling unhappily. "Poor Spike."

She stood up and began to dance slowly around the room. "And now she has _him_." She closed her eyes and held up her arms. "He felt like sunshine. A never-ending sunshine." She laughed delightedly and then sighed. Dropping her arms she looked over at Spike. "All my boys..." she said sadly.

"Dru..."

"Shh!" She held a finger to her lips. "Naughty boy! Grrrr! Mustn't talk. Not your turn. No cake for you." She walked slowly back to the bed. She sat next to him again, looked up at him from under lowered eyelids, coquettish, smiling. "Am I still your princess?"

"Always." Spike watched her warily, well aware how close to the edge she was.

"Your only love?"

"Dru..." Despite himself, he couldn't lie to her. Not to Dru. "Dru... love..." But what to say?

"Love!" She was suddenly angry. "Bad Spike! You don't love _me_!" She stood up and began to pace around the room wringing her hands. Mary made a move to comfort her but Drusilla brushed her away and continued her anguished pacing. "_She_ has you! I can still see her floating all around you. You're full of her. You're _drenched_ in her. Nasty little slayer! Wicked little monster!" She bent her head and pressed her hands to her temples, whimpering.

"Drusilla!" Mary rushed to her side and put her arms around her. "Hush, my love."

Drusilla cowered against Mary, hands covering her eyes. "You love me, don't you? You love me... even if I'm a bad girl?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you're not bad!" Mary kissed her forehead. "You're not bad!"

"I must be bad. I must be very bad!" She turned her head, looking at Spike through her fingers. "He would have killed me... for her..."

"No, darling! Hush now!" Mary held her close, stroking her hair and glared at Spike. Spike winced. So much hate.

As quickly as it had changed before, Drusilla's mood switched again. She freed herself from Mary and went back to Spike, suddenly calm.

"You should have pushed her away. You should have killed her for your princess. You should have. She's the worst of all. Worse than the spiders in your head. Worse than the nasty little burning thing in your chest." She looked at him, head tilted. "Do you love all of her? Do you love her insides, too? Eyeballs to entrails?" She folded her arms across herself, swaying, eyes dreamy, lips curved in a smile. "Shall we see? Shall we take the little killer's insides out and see if you love them?" The smile faded and she focussed back on him. "I think we should." Her voice was cold.

She stood up stretching and yawning. "I'm sleepy now. Shall we go to bed?" She looked over at Mary, smiling slyly.

Mary held out her hand. "Come." She looked over at Spike. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait there for a while." She cocked her head and looked at him thoughtfully. "You're not looking well, you know. Sort of... peaky. That's what happens when you drink nothing but animal blood. You're beginning to smell like a butcher's shop. We need to get you some nice human blood. Better still, we need to get you some nice slayer blood. Two birds with one stone."

Arms around each other, the two women left Spike to the discomfort of his shackles, closing the door softly behind them.


	16. Sixteen

The after effects of the tranquiliser dragged Spike down into an uneasy sleep despite himself. His dreams were full of blood, of screaming and begging and dying and broken victims. At the centre of it all was Drusilla, smiling that strange, twisted smile of hers, standing arm outstretched, something red in the palm of her hand. "She wouldn't give it to you." She said slowly. "So I took it for you. It's a present..." She was offering him a still beating heart. "But it doesn't have your name on it..." He woke with a start, dry-mouthed and panic-stricken. The after effects of the dream eased slowly, leaving him with a deep sense of unease. He was relieved at least to find the thundering headache had been replaced by a vague ache, even if his stomach seemed intent on tying itself in painful knots. He shifted his position and groaned.

"You used to like to play." Drusilla detached herself from the shadows by the door and drifted slowly over to the bed. "Do you remember?"

"I remember." He looked over at Drusilla, frowning into the shadows behind her. "Where's your little friend?"

Drusilla gave a slow smile. "Baby's gone a-hunting. Gone to get a slayer skin to wrap my sweet boy in..." The smile narrowed. "Won't that be nice? She said I could have you. Until she brings the slayer home." Dru climbed onto the bed, straddling Spike's hips. "Shall we play a game?"

"Not really in the position, love." He rattled the cuffs.

"Pretty bracelets." Dru giggled and wriggled against him. "They won't stop this game." She growled.

Spike looked up at her. Despite everything, he was struck again by how beautiful she was, at the depth of feelings she could still stir in him. He felt a sudden rush of tenderness for her. "Where did you go?" he said softly. "You know, after..."

"After you nearly killed me?" Dru tilted her head with a pout. "That wasn't nice you know, changing the rules when I wasn't looking. The music hadn't stopped. Spoiled the game."

He looked up at solemnly. "I'm sorry."

There was a flash of something in Drusilla's eyes – a sudden touch of sanity, a vision of the girl she could have been that tore at his heart. "I loved you." She whispered. "I really did..." And then it was gone. "Do you like my dolly?" She gave him a proud smile. "I made her, you know. Like I made you. Only you won't play with me any more. You're broken. But dolly says we can fix you. And then... we can be a family..."

"But Mary's not family. Angel..."

"Shh! Naughty children, mustn't squabble!" Dru growled. "All play together nicely, or mommy will be cross." She reached out a hand and pressed it to Spike's cheek. "But you'll always be my special one." She smiled gently. "Am I special, too?"

Spike leaned into her touch. "Always." He watched her carefully. "My black goddess." He turned his head to press a kiss on her palm, "My ripe," bent his head to trail his lips over her wrist, "...wicked plum." He raised his head, eyes locked with hers. "It's been..."

Drusilla's eyes were dreamy, unfocussed, lost in memories. "Forever..." She said softly bringing her lips to his.

"Dru..." he whispered against her lips. "Dru, love, where's the key...?"

"Sweet." Mary's voice from the door was heavy with sarcasm.

Dru turned to look at her as Spike groaned in annoyance. "Did you bring me a present?"

"Yes, love."She smiled. "It's in our room."

Dru jumped to her feet, clapping her hands in delight. "Is it her? Have you brought me sweetmeats?"

"No, not this time." Dru gave a disappointed pout and Mary laughed. "Soon. Now – go eat, precious. We have to move to somewhere new..."

Drusilla frowned fretfully. "I like it here. It smells of roses... and blood..."

"Ah, but where we are going is so much nicer. And the friend who's letting us stay? He is _so_ looking forward to seeing you again." Mary gave Spike a hard smile. "And you, too."

"Then I must go and pack." Drusilla smiled. "We shall have a lovely holiday." She threw Spike a smile and left.

Mary turned to look at Spike. "We need to move you. My friend seems to think you have some powerful people looking for you. We aren't safe here. And your slayer wants you back, it seems. No matter. She'll see you soon enough." Mary opened a drawer and took out a vial and syringe.

"Why are you doing this?" Spike eyed the syringe.

"Because I can." Mary gave him a mocking smile.

"But... look, you and Dru... you're clearly... "he paused "...close." He went on as Mary gave an amused laugh. "Why am I here?"

"Because it's what Drusilla wants. She thinks she'll get you back. She thinks slayer blood will bring her darling deadly boy back. And she'll have us both." Mary shrugged. "It makes sense to her."

"Yeah, but you're not barking. You know it won't work."

"Of course not. But you see,"Mary leaned closer to him and hissed, "you hurt Drusilla. You have no idea how much. So I'm going to hurt you." She pulled away and smiled. "And what better way than killing your precious slayer. And Drusilla will enjoy that so much."

"You know you'll never stand up to Buffy." Spike hoped he sounded more convinced than he felt.

"No? Maybe not in the past. But now? She's weak. She's lost her drive." She frowned and shook her head. "Sorry excuse for a slayer, that one. Besides, you're not the only one with friends in high places." She held up the vial. "Now, let's just get you ready." Mary frowned in concentration as she drew the amber coloured liquid up into the syringe. She turned to him with a smile, brandishing the needle. "Now – this is going to hurt you a lot more than it's going to hurt me."

Spike wondered whether there was any mileage to be had in kicking the syringe out of her hand, other than just making him feel better about the situation. Better still, if he timed it right, perhaps he could kick her unconscious - although what the fuck he'd do when she came round he didn't know. He came to conclusion that, sensible or no, he was buggered if he was going to let the bint jab him without a fight.

"Fuck you." He said through gritted teeth, watching for his moment as Mary came closer.

"Told you before, sweetie, you're not my type." Mary smiled down at him.

"No? Maybe you should try it." He kept his eyes on the syringe.

She looked at him, head tilted in amusement. "You know, I just might just. See what all the fuss is about." She gave a sigh of mock disappointment. "But it's going to have to wait. Now, where do you want it?"

As she bent toward him, Spike tensed his muscles, poised for a fight. Little bit closer. Damn, this was going to feel good.

It was then all hell broke loose.


	17. Seventeen

The bedroom door flew back on its hinges with an almighty crash, bringing a heavy rain of plaster dust from the ceiling, and sending the Klimt crashing to the floor. Spike kicked out at Mary, his foot making satisfying contact with her stomach, sending her hurtling backwards into the arms of one of the crowd of people that had suddenly burst into the room. When Spike had blinked the dust from his eyes, he realised that the 'crowd' actually consisted of three people – although given the size of two of them, they probably counted as a crowd.  
  
Ilona held Mary tightly, one arm around her neck. Her two black suited goons stood impassively in the doorway. Spike had to admit to being impressed. Despite her vampire strength, a struggling Mary was making no impression on Ilona's steely grip. Either she was one hell of a lot stronger than she looked or Wolfram and Hart liked a bit of demon in their CEOs.  
  
"So?" Ilona spoke into Mary's ear, her voice hard "You have maybe the good excuse for all of this, no?"  
  
"This is no concern of yours. This is personal, between me and him. What he did… he deserves this." Mary kept her eyes fixed on Spike. "And the slayer deserves worse."  
  
"The slayer…" Ilona nodded as if considering her words. "I have nothing against vendetta, I am Italian after all." She shrugged. "But, this..." she tightened her arm lock with a jerk. "No concern, huh? You kill three of my men. You threaten someone under my protection. That, I think, makes it my concern." She brought her mouth closer to Mary's ear. "Try harder." She hissed.  
  
Mary turned her head as much as she was able and glared at Ilona defiantly. Ilona shrugged. "OK." Spike wasn't exactly sure where in her tight fitting dress the stake appeared from, but Ilona drove it into Mary's chest with the ease born of long practice. She turned away, dusting off her hands with a gesture of distaste. "I will not stand betrayal." She looked over at Spike, eyes narrowed, and pointed the stake in his direction. "You know, I never did trust that one. She had the shifty leetle eyes, like the gypsies. _Pah!_ We shall speak of her no more." She walked over to the bed and smiled down at Spike. "Ah! There is a sight for the sore eyes, no? We were beginning to think maybe you'd got yourself smooshed! But 'ere you are. Still so 'andsome and no smooshing! You had us all so worried!"  
  
"Well, you know what it's like. Been a bit tied up lately." Spike raised his wrists.  
  
Ilona gave a throaty chuckle. "On you they look good." She bent to examine the handcuffs. "Ha! These she stole as well! You see! Like the gypsies!" Muttering curses under her breath, she straightened. "OK, I send someone for the cutters and then a leetle snip-snip and you are free, yes?" She turned to one of the black suited men standing in the doorway, giving her instructions in rapid Italian. Spike caught Drusilla's name and called out to Ilona.  
  
"Do you have her? Drusilla…"  
  
Ilona turned back to him. "No, but we will and then…" she raised the stake.  
  
"No." Spike said calmly. "Don't hurt her. Look, Dru's not responsible for any of this, not really. She didn't kill your blokes, Mary did that."  
  
"You want we don't kill her?" Ilona looked at him with a puzzled frown.  
  
"No." He frowned. "I mean… yes. I don't want her dusted." He sighed and shook his head. "She needs help not punishment."  
  
Ilona shrugged. "_Si_, what you say may be true… but we try the psychoanalysis with the vampires before. They eat the therapist. Is not good. We lose too many good therapists like that. Besides, I do not think that the Senior Partners would take so kindly, huh?" She gave Spike a soft smile. "You are a good man, I think, to care for one such as this. OK. We find her and we take her out of the country, away from the trouble, no?" Ilona turned to give her instructions to her patiently waiting men.  
  
"Tell them..." Spike paused, and Ilona turned back to him. "She's… fragile. Tell them to be treat her gently." He felt himself hoping they would be gentle enough for her to slip out of the care of Wolfram and Hart at the first opportunity.  
  
The two men dismissed, Ilona sat on the bed next to Spike. "So. Now we wait." She kicked off her shoes and swung her legs up onto the bed. "What shall we do to fill the time?"  
  
"How did you find me?" Spike shifted his position as Ilona settled closer. Getting a bit cosy. He eyed her suspiciously. But, he had to admit, the feel of her warmth and the smell of her exotic perfume wasn't exactly unpleasant…  
  
"I am CEO of Wolfram and 'art! I can kick the donkey when I need to!" Ilona laughed.  
  
"Ass." Spike grinned. "You kick ass."  
  
"Ah, that too!" She gave a low chuckle. "It wasn't so difficult. Angeloos and" she rolled her eyes "the great slayer… Boofy… so _precious_…" the contempt in her voice was palpable, "they say you go missing. They think it has something to do with the killings." Ilona shrugged. "Mary, she 'ardly covered her tracks. She took the tranquilliser from our laboratory." Another shrug. "Now those tranquilisers, either you are going after elephant or something tough like a vampire - and you know, we do not get so many elephants 'ere in Roma. And when Mary, she did not turn up for work we did a leetle digging into her past, when she was first in Roma, when you and Drusilla were 'ere, and then we put together the two and the two with the leetle bit of information we hear on the street and… She is not very bright, I think, this Mary. So, 'ere we are, and 'ere you are so all is well, no?" She glanced down at the discarded syringe. "And I think we were just in time, huh? Why she KO you again? She was going to move you I think."  
  
"She said a friend had warned her." Spike gave a wry smile. _And I have a strong suspicion I know who…_  
  
"Ah, yes? A friend. No friend of yours, huh?" Ilona frowned and gazed off into the distance. "I think your Boofy has been talking to someone else, too. She should be careful who she chooses as a friend. She too is not very bright, I think." She turned back to Spike with a smile. "But, is no matter, because now you are well, and no-one has smooshed your pretty face and now we have you back." She gave him a considering look. "You know, maybe you could take a position for us here in Roma. You have certain… characteristics that would be useful to me. You'd fit well in Roma, no? I think…" she paused and frowned at him. "Why you smile at me like that?"  
  
"Does anything stop you talking?" Spike gave her a bemused grin.  
  
"Oh," She moved closer to him, her voice seductive. "I can think of one or two things…"

xxxxxx

When he returned with the bolt cutters half an hour later, Goon Number One found Spike and Ilona sitting close to each other on the bed, backs to the headboard, talking softly. Ilona was holding a cigarette, sharing it companionably with the still handcuffed Spike. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the two of them. None of his business, naturally, but he hadn't seen the boss look quite so relaxed for a long time. The woman was positively glowing and the vampire… He shrugged and bent to Spike's handcuffs.  
  
Ilona stood up, straightening her dress. "Remember what I say, huh? You make dangerous enemies." She bent down and, cradling his chin in her hand, gave him a long and lingering kiss. She pulled back and looked down at him with a rueful smile. "Such a waste! You get tired of playing with the girls, you come find a real woman, yes? OK. We get you free, you come back to Wolfram and Hart and rest and then later we… 'ow you say… debrief you?"  
  
The handcuffs fell away and Spike rubbed his wrists, wincing. "That sounds fun." He said. And he had some business of his own to attend to.

xxxxxx

Later, back at Wolfram and Hart, Spike carefully let himself in to Ilona's empty office. The computer hummed quietly in the corner, screen blank. He moved the mouse – _bingo_! So, Ilona was a naughty CEO. Didn't she know how dangerous it was not to log off at the end of the day? All sorts of wicked people could just drop by and get access to all her files. He frowned in concentration as he scanned through directories and file lists… all the very sensitive information that a company like Wolfram and Hart kept… he gave a grunt of pleasure… just like that one… He opened the file with a grin, which was rapidly replaced with a frown. Bugger! Encrypted. He tapped his fingers on the desk. No matter. He couldn't crack it; but he knew a girl who could. Just a case of getting on to the LA server…._just like… that…_ sign on as Angel… OK… need a password… _let's just try…_ Spike gave a snort of laughter. "Peaches, you are so bloody predictable." And there we are. Angel's contacts list. Just what he needed.  
  
The email sent, Spike set about removing any traces of what he'd done from the system. Now, all he had to do was find a phone somewhere safe and put in a call to London. Spike let himself out of the office quietly and made for the street.

xxxxxx

He wasted the first five minutes or so of the expensive telephone call in the dingy bar convincing Willow that yes, it really was Spike and no, it wasn't Andrew playing silly games and yes, he really was back, and no, he didn't know why Giles hadn't told her (although he had a bloody good idea), and yes, he had seen Buffy and no, they weren't making with the smoochies and, really, he didn't know what Buffy thought, but yes, she was probably surprised, and Red, could they please just discuss the file? _Please?_  
  
"Sorry!" He could sense the Willow trademark self-depreciating grin. "OK." She was suddenly all business-like. "This thing has high-level protection. They're using an asymmetric system… a public key system? But the algorithm on the private key is huge, and I mean huge. Enormous hash values." Spike could hear the clatter of keyboard keys as Willow worked and thought aloud. "Wow, whatever they are protecting must be big. If I throw a brute force attack at this… You know the monkeys? Infinite number with an infinite number of typewriters turning out Hamlet eventually? They'd turn out the whole of the works of Shakespeare before they cracked this one…" he could hear the frustration in her voice. "It's a bit like RC6. A parameterized algorithm. It's using integer multiplication..."  
  
"It's whating a who?" Might as well have been speaking Chinese – actually, he'd have had more of a chance with the Chinese. "Red…"  
  
But Willow was chasing a thought pattern and clearly didn't hear him. She continued "…and 4-bit working registers. So it's sort of… But it's not quite… so if we take the encryption algorithm…"  
  
"RED!" A couple of customers in the bar turned at the sound of Spike's raised voice. He glared at them until they turned away.  
  
"Oh! Sorry…" Spike had finally got Willow's attention.  
  
"Are you saying you can't tell me what's in the file?" He was trying hard to stay calm.  
  
"Well, no. Not in the sub-file, no. At least, if…" Willow was in danger of going off on another tangent.  
  
"WHAT sub-file?" Staying calm was beginning to get harder.  
  
"The one inside the main file you sent." Willow explained patiently.  
  
"Wait a minute… you've cracked the main file?"  
  
"Well, yes. It was just a standard Wolfram and Hart public key… more or less… so I just…"  
  
Spike took a steadying breath. "Then, pet, d'you think you could tell me what was in it?"  
  
"Oh! Well, a spell." Willow's tone suggested that it should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain.  
  
"A spell?"  
  
"Uh huh. It's a… would you just look at that?" The clatter of keyboard started up again. "Whoever put this together was either a genius or completely mad…"  
  
"Willow?" Spike kept his voice as level as he was able. "The spell?"  
  
"Oh! Sorry. A longevity spell. A powerful one - way powerful. Not good-witchy-connected-to-everything powerful. Spooky, deep-in-the-naughty-stuff powerful."  
  
"I knew it! Too bloody high and mighty to use magic, huh? So. How do I break it?" Spike felt a surge of optimism.  
  
"Well, you don't." Willow said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Oh, c'mon! No such thing as an unbreakable spell."  
  
"Oh, it's not unbreakable… just… whoa!"  
  
"Red…" Spike growled.  
  
He sensed her wince. "This sort of spell has a pivot. A locking word."  
  
"Which is..?"  
  
"Probably the thing in the sub-file…"  
  
Spike sighed heavily. "Oh. Can't you crack it with magic?"  
  
"Umm… no. We're talking math here – way harder than magic. I'm sorry…"  
  
"Not your fault, love. Thanks for trying. Just have to think of something else." _Like leaving the country… or possibly the planet…_  
  
"Wish I could help. I'll keep at the file, but…" her voice trailed away doubtfully.  
  
"Yeah, I know. The monkeys are working on _Hamlet_."  
  
"They just can't seem to get the hang of soliloquies. And they keep demanding banana breaks." Willow paused. "Spike?" her voice was hesitant. "Are you OK?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm OK." Strangely, he didn't feel OK.  
  
"Look, the word will be something close to the subject. It has to be part of them for the spell to be tied to them? But secret, you know, something only they'd know?"  
  
"Is that a fact?" Spike frowned in concentration. _Just an idea..._ "Red, you're amazing."  
  
"I am?"  
  
"You are."  
  
"Gee. Neat." He could almost hear the bashful grin. There was an awkward pause. "Spike?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm glad you're back." Willow's voice was quiet. "Really glad."  
  
"You know," Spike said, "for the first time in a while, I think I might be, too."


	18. Eighteen

A sharp elbow in the ribs woke The Immortal from a deep sleep. Marco was cowering next to him, whimpering quietly. "Marco, for heaven's sake..." he growled, pushing the young man away from him. He suddenly became aware of the shadowy shape in the darkness. A disconcerting thrill of fear ran through him, something he hadn't felt for a very long time. "Who...?" he peered across the room, frowning.

"'Evening. Understand you're looking for me." Spike stepped out of the shadows.

"How the hell..."

"Did I get past your goons? Turns out they were both more interested in watching internet porn that watching out for their boss." Spike tutted. "You just can't get the staff." He gestured to Marco. "Up you get, Charlie boy. Need to talk to your man here."

Marco leapt eagerly from the bed, smiling ingratiatingly, hands cupping his genitals. As he made to pass him, Spike put out a hand and grabbed his arm. "Just in case you were thinking of being a hero..." he turned his game face towards the cowering boy. "Don't. OK?"

Mario swallowed hard and nodded rapidly. "No. I go. I not come back. I not like him anyway." He glanced back at The Immortal fearfully, then reached up to whisper in Spike's ear. "He like very strange things..."

"You don't say." Spike turned his gaze back to The Immortal, shrugging out of game face. Freed from Spike's grasp, Mario fled.

"You have me at a disadvantage, my friend." The Immortal looked up at Spike in feigned puzzlement. "You clearly know who I am, but you are..?"

"Right now possibly your worst nightmare." Spike gave a hard grin. "Cut the crap, mate. You know exactly who I am."

The Immortal looked at him levelly for a moment, then shrugged. "OK. You are William the Bloody... _Spike_." he sneered. "Such a _common_ name."

Spike shrugged. "Least I got a name. Odd, isn't it? The way no-one seems to know yours."

The Immortal's sneering smile became slightly more fixed. "Alright, so I know you and you know me. And what is it you want?"

Spike walked over to the bed. "Want? Now there's a question. How about you keep your Roman nose out of my business?"

"Ah, well, the problem there is that you made your business my business." He frowned up at Spike. "You should have stayed away from Rome."

"Yeah? Well, let's just see if I can't persuade you to see things my way." Spike stood over The Immortal. "Thing is, I know your secret, mate. I know all your little secrets. And I mean all." Spike leaned forward, smiling as The Immortal winced and shrank away from him. "I know about the spell." He shook his head. "And they told me you would never use a spell..." he said sadly.

"I... I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, I think you do. And you know what else? I know the key." Spike bent lower, mouth millimetres from The Immortal's ear. "I know your name." he whispered.

The Immortal blanched. "I... I don't believe you."

"No? So, do you wanna call me on it? Want me to say it out loud? 'Course I'd have to break the spell as well...keep it neat, like." He leaned back to look The Immortal in the eye. "You've gotta ask yourself a question. Do I feel lucky?" He stood up and grinned savagely. "Well, do ya, punk?" Damn, he loved that line – been waiting a long time for the chance to use it.

There was a long pause. "What do you want?" The Immortal asked eventually.

"From you? Nothing. Except that you leave me and mine alone. Me and _mine_. And by mine I mean just about anyone who ever has or possibly might come into contact with me. Except maybe...." He hesitated and considered, then shook his head. "No – _including_ Angel. You understand?"

"And if I choose not to?" A final stab at bravado by The Immortal, somewhat spoilt by the slight shake in his voice.

Spike shrugged. "Then our little secret becomes a lot of other people's little secret. And some of those people... they won't be as accommodating as I am." Spike's voice was suddenly cold steel. "Don't doubt me. It's in place. So much as a sniff of trouble, the slightest suspicion that something's up - and you're suddenly a nine-hundred-year-old mortal. Guess you wouldn't be quite so pretty then."

"If you know all this, then why do you not use it?"

"Oh, I dunno. Kind of like the idea of you knowing I know. Makes me feel all warm inside. Besides, man like you could come in useful. Might just need to call in the odd favour."

"And in return..."

"You get to live."

The Immortal looked at him steadily. "And I can trust you?"

"Who me?" Spike was the picture of innocence. "Cross my heart and hope to..." he stopped and grinned. "Well, you get the gist."

"Then it seems I have no choice." The Immortal gave a short laugh. "Strange as this may sound, I like you. I don't suppose you need employment?"

"No." Spike turned away. "Listen, sorry about your... friend."

"No matter." The Immortal shrugged dismissively. "There are plenty more _pesce_ in _il mare_. "

"Funny, never got the thing about Italian men. Angelus, now, he liked them." Spike frowned thoughtfully. "Personally, I got the impression they were all a bunch of greasy mummy's boys. Well, those of them that weren't foaming-at-the-mouth fascists, naturally. Can't see the attraction."

"Ah, well. You know us Romans..." The Immortal shrugged.

"I know you. Probably about enough." Spike grinned. "I'll be in touch. Ciao."

He let himself out of The Immortal's apartment, unchallenged by the two guards. Really wouldn't want to be in their shoes when the boss was up and dressed. Once out in the cool night air of the street, he stopped and leant back against a wall with a relieved sigh. Didn't honestly think he'd manage to pull that one off, as it happens. Not usually one for the lucky guesses. And it suddenly struck him that if it hadn't worked out and he'd been wrong... he hadn't actually thought that far ahead. No matter. He pushed himself away from the wall and grinned. All worked out just fine. Head high, he resisted the urge to swagger and made off for a celebratory drink. Nice cold Nastro Azzuro would go down very well. And then... he had to face Buffy. He paused mid-stride. Maybe _two_ nice cold Nastro Azzuros...


	19. Nineteen

"Pass the garlic." Dawn pointed at a terracotta pot with her knife.

"Do vampires eat garlic?" From his vantage point perched on the worktop, Andrew picked up the pot and peered inside.

"Yes, vampires eat garlic. The whole garlic thing? All blew up because Dracula can't stand the smell of the stuff; some sort of childhood issues thing." Dawn shrugged as she chopped. "So what with him being the big 'I am' and the only vampire anyone's ever heard of, everyone just assumes it's all vampires. 'Course no self respecting vampire is going to put an end to the myth, because..." she paused and affected an English accent "if the silly bints want to think an onion is going to protect her she bloody well deserves all she gets."

"Wow!" Andrew gazed at her wide-eyed. "How did you learn that? That must be like a really big vampire secret!"

"Spike told me. I caught him eating garlic bread." Dawn added the garlic to the onions sweating gently in the pan.

"Spike..." Andrew sighed and looked off into the distance dreamily. "Isn't it wonderful he's back?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Stop drooling and pass me the capsicum." She frowned as Andrew looked vaguely around him. "The shiny red thing... there..."

Andrew handed it to Dawn. "People eat that?" He looked at it suspiciously.

"It's what we earthlings call a vegetable." Dawn sliced the pepper neatly.

"I eat vegetables." Andrew said defensively.

"I'm not sure pizza topping and the occasional olive counts."

"Well, it doesn't matter, because maybe it's all just a computer controlled fantasy, and actually we're all living in tanks being fed..."

"Andrew," Dawn interrupted with a sigh. "This Matrix thing? Getting a bit obsessional." She shook her head. "How you ever persuaded Angel to watch all three of them with you..."

"I think Angel enjoyed them really. He told me I needed to keep very quiet so he could concentrate on the movies. He even had his eyes closed a couple of times so he could concentrate fully on the dialogue." Andrew nodded wisely. "It's a shame he had to dash off before we got the chance to talk about them properly."

"And now he's gone back to LA. Ah, the life of a hard working executive. Who you gonna share your popcorn with now?"

Andrew looked over his shoulder and then leaned toward Dawn conspiratorially. "Buffy and Angel had a row. After he told her us Spike being OK. When Buffy wouldn't come out of her room?" He gave Dawn a knowing look. "She _sent_ him back to LA."

"You know I wondered what happened!" Dawn grinned to herself, then looked over at Andrew and frowned. "Were you listening at doors again?"

"No." Andrew looked hurt. "But this apartment is kind of small and I tried not to listen, but you know, Buffy's room is right next to the lounge..."

"Well, you shouldn't have listened. It was a private conversation. You should've stuck your fingers in your ears or something." Dawn went back to chopping the vegetables. "So," she said casually, "What did she say?"

"Well," Andrew shone with self importance. "He said it's a pity Ilona didn't just leave him where she found him and she said that was an awful thing to say and he said well, Spike was nothing but trouble, and so she said if that was the way he felt after all Spike had been through then he wasn't needed in Rome any more and shouldn't he get back to his girlfriend, and he said she was jealous and she laughed and said that _so_ wasn't true and then he said something about cookie dough..."

"Have you ever figured that one out?" Dawn cast Andrew a puzzled glance.

"No. He keeps going on about it, though. Maybe the last thing they ever did together was make cookies and it still stays in his heart..." Andrew sighed dreamily.

"Yeah, right. Like Buffy and Angel did a lot of baking together." Dawn snorted. "Probably one of her analogy things. She was never much good at them. And then?"

"It all got a bit confusing..."

"_Spike_. Did they mention _Spike_?"

"Angel said he was getting fed up being sent away just because Buffy wanted to be with her boyfriend and Buffy said Spike wasn't her boyfriend and then Angel went all snorty and said, oh yeah, well is sure looked like he was from where he was standing..."

"Buffy said Spike wasn't her boyfriend? Oh!" Dawn sounded disappointed.

"And then..." Andrew leant forward. "Then Angel asked if Buffy loved Spike..."

"And?" Dawn leant closer.

"And it all went very quiet... then she said it was none of Angel's business, and Angel said it was and he had a right to know and then Buffy..." Andrew shrugged and gave a theatrical shudder. "Well, she went into one of those big long speeches of hers..."

"Yeow. Poor Angel!" Dawn shook her head in sympathy. "I hate it when she does that."

"Something about forever love and souls and people changing and the cookie thing again... It went on a while. I kind of lost the gist." Andrew shrugged.

"But did she say she loved Spike?"

"Not exactly..." Andrew frowned in thought. "She said what she felt for Spike was between her and him and no-one else. And Angel went all quiet, and Buffy said he'd always have a special place in her heart, but that she had changed... and Spike had changed..." Andrew sighed. "Angel said some people never change and he had had over a hundred years to get to know the real Spike and Buffy said he'd barely scraped the surface and Angel said that maybe he'd just go ask Ilona what lay under the surface..."

"And?" Dawn was breathless with anticipation.

"Then... I stopped listening."

"You... _why_?"

"Well, there was this movie I wanted to see..."

"Don't tell me – Keanu Reeves."

"No." Andrew gave her a hurt look. "Actually it was Tom Cruise..." he admitted sheepishly.

"Tom Cruise! Yeww!" Dawn shuddered. "You _fancy_ Tom Cruise? That's just... weird."

"Actually, I think Tom Cruise is a very much under-rated actor." Andrew said huffily.

Dawn turned back to stir the sauce with a shake of her head. "You need to get out more. Speaking of which, you have remembered what I told you about tonight."

"Ooo, the great plot!" Andrew jiggled excitedly. "It's exciting!"

"It's not a plot!" Dawn glowered at him. "I don't plot! I just think they need to spend a little time together is all - you know, talk."

"It's so romantic." Andrew hunched his shoulders and swung his legs, smiling dreamily. "A year spent alone – her ultimate triumph tainted with the bitterness for what's been lost in the struggle. Her lion's heart broken by the fall of his greatness..."

"Yeah, OK Andrew." Dawn shook her head bemusedly and turned back to her preparations.

"The life of a Slayer of Vampyrs beset by tragedy..."

"That's probably enough with the voice-over."

"Who can truly understand the dreams of such a warrior? Who knows what passions stir for him, returned to her only to be cruelly snatched away..."

Dawn turned and pointed the knife at Andrew. "You know, I'm not afraid to use this."

"Oh. Sorry. It's just theirs is a story of a tragic and doomed love..."

"Argh! No more!"

There were a few moments silence. Then Andrew began to hum quietly to himself.

"No theme from "Love Story" either." Dawn didn't look up.

"How about 'The Way We Were.'?"

"No."

"But..."

"No."

"Meanie."

"You better believe it." She stepped back from the stove. "Now. Go find me a pen."


	20. Twenty

Buffy stood in front of the mirror, nervously straightening her soft cream linen dress. On the bed behind her virtually her whole wardrobe was piled in a disordered, discarded heap. She bit her lip as she smoothed her hair behind her ears. Perhaps she should have stuck with the black… or maybe the pink… but she so rarely wore pink… and the black was a bit sombre… but the cream… and when did she ever wear dresses? She gave a groan of annoyance. _Will you get a grip!_ Spike. It's just Spike. Coming for supper. With her and Dawn and Andrew. No big. Just Spike. "Check." She said to her reflection, glaring at it sternly. "Just Spike." She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. OK. Better now.  
  
The sound of a knock on the apartment door made her jump, and restarted her flustered efforts to smooth hair and clothes. She could hear the low murmuring of voices in the next room, and found herself straining for the sound of his voice.  
  
"Hey!" Dawn opened the bedroom door. "Are you coming out or staying in there all night?"  
  
"I'm… " Buffy forced her features into a calmness that betrayed the thundering of her heart. She turned to Dawn with a bright smile. "All set! Is he here?"  
  
"Yep. But you'd better get out there. Andrew's got him cornered and is quoting Monty Python at him. Something about a parrot." Dawn glanced at her watch and gave a squeak. "Oh! Look at the time! We'd best be off. The pasta is in the oven, the wine is in the 'fridge and…"  
  
"Off?" Buffy said weakly.  
  
"Yes… me… Andrew… the theatre." Dawn gave her a wide-eyed innocent look. "Didn't I say?"  
  
"Dawn…" Buffy wailed.  
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Dawn came into the room and took Buffy's arm, steering her towards the door. "You. Him. Talk." She manoeuvred her sister into the sitting room. "Here she is!"  
  
Spike stood up rapidly from the sofa where he had been pressed into a corner by an enthusiastic Andrew, relief writ large on his face. "Buffy." He looked over at her, his smile almost shy. No duster, she noticed, and that beautiful soft, dark blue shirt – good colour on him, stylish. Not his usual thing but… good choice. She wondered who chose it for him and why exactly that thought bothered her as much as it did.  
  
She realised that everyone was watching her and she was just standing there staring at him, quite probably with her mouth open, and that the silence had gone on rather longer than was normal and that they probably expected some sort of response. She shook herself. "Spike." She felt herself blush.  
  
"Right, we're off then." Dawn smiled cheerfully.  
  
"We're going to the opera…" Andrew began.  
  
"Theatre!" Dawn put in quickly, glaring at Andrew. "We're going to the theatre! Been arranged for weeks. Sorry we can't join you." She grabbed Andrew and dragged him from the sofa. "Oh! And, Buffy? Don't wait up. Because we'll probably be late getting home. Very late. If at all, actually."  
  
"We will?" Andrew was gazing at her in bafflement.  
  
Dawn pushed him out of the apartment. "Enjoy the pasta!" She called back to them. "Ciao!" Just before the door closed, she turned and frowned threateningly at Buffy, mouthing "Talk".  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence, an exchange of nervous smiles. Spike looked round at the candles and the carefully laid table. "Dawn's made a real effort." He smiled.  
  
"Yeah." Buffy's answering smile was nervous. "But I think she reads too many romantic novels."  
  
Spike gave a soft laugh and picked up a handful of the rose petals strewn on the table. "It's… sweet."  
  
"Sweet. Yeah."  
  
"You look… nice." Again the shy smile.  
  
"Nice? You think? I wasn't sure. I bought this dress and then I thought, you know, when do I wear dresses? But it's always good to have a smart dress. For interviews and stuff. Not that I'm going to any interviews. And it's not particularly smart. And honestly? I haven't really got the shoes, but…then… I…" She caught Spike's bemused smile and stopped. _Oh god. Nervous rambling, much?_ "You look nice too. I mean…" She paused and regrouped. "Are you OK?" she managed eventually.  
  
"OK?"  
  
"I mean, after the Dru thing."  
  
"Oh. I'm fine. Well," he winced and rubbed his wrist "mostly."  
  
"Mostly?"  
  
"The girls liked to play."  
  
"Oh! What did they…?" Buffy took an unconscious step towards him and went to take his hand. She caught herself, dropped her own hand awkwardly and shook her head. "Sorry."  
  
"No, it's OK." He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging. "I'm OK."  
  
There was a silence. "I'm glad Ilona found you." _With her… chest…_ she pushed back the unworthy thoughts. "I hear she's pretty good with a stake."  
  
"Yeah. She's…" He paused and smiled. "She's quite something."  
  
"Good. That's… good." There was another long pause as Buffy struggled to deal with the sharp stab of something that felt remarkably like jealousy. _Quite something, huh? What exactly…_ she shook the thought away. "And I hear The Immortal had something to do with the whole Mary thing. Who does he think he is?" There was a flash of anger in her words. "I am so gonna sort him out."  
  
"No need. It's sorted." Spike shrugged dismissively.  
  
"Yeah, but…"  
  
"It's sorted." He said firmly.  
  
She looked up with a puzzled frown. "Oh! OK." _You don't need my help… right... _She swallowed nervously. "Oh… umm…pasta. Dawn's very proud of her pasta." Buffy gestured toward the door. "Should we eat?"  
  
"Be rude not to after the little bit went to so much trouble." He followed her into the kitchen.  
  
"Trouble. Yeah." Buffy gave a wry grin. "Dawn and trouble – now there are two words that seem to go together way too often." She bent down to take the dish from the oven. "There's wine in the 'fridge. Beer too. You wanna fetch?" She could hardly control her hands; she was shaking with bottled-up emotions swirling uselessly through her body and mind. And there he was, looking so… calm. She drew a steadying breath.  
  
Spike opened the fridge door and took out a bottle. He gave a snort of laughter and turned the label towards Buffy, raising an eyebrow. Stuck to the bottle was a bright yellow PostIt! note with the word "TALK!!!" written on it in large, emphatic letters.  
  
Buffy gave an embarrassed laugh. "Dawn… thinks we should talk."  
  
"You don't say." Spike shook his head. He held out the bottle to Buffy. She reached out to take it, covering his hand with hers.  
  
She looked up into his eyes. "I think she's right." She said softly.  
  
They sat next to each other on the sofa, a few inches and an ocean of unsaid words separating them, both waiting for the other to make the first move.  
  
"Where did you go?" Spike asked eventually. "After the Hellmouth fell in."  
  
"Oh." She sighed. "We set off for Cleveland." Buffy winced at the memory of those first few days after the euphoria of survival had faded; of the ache of loss, of the fierce pain of victory, of the careful silences, of the confusion. "We didn't quite make it. Giles…" Giles had taken charge of those left, clutching responsibility to him, galvanised by guilt. "Giles decided to head back to England… to try and pull together what was left of the watchers…"  
  
"Figures." Spike snorted.  
  
"We needed them." Buffy shrugged. "It was… We came across this girl… she'd…" she closed her eyes against the pictures in her mind. "The whole power thing, it did something to her. She didn't know what was happening. She killed her family." She heard Spike's indrawn breath, sensed him reach towards her. She wrapped her arms around herself, shutting him out. _No, not yet. Not ready. Not nearly ready._ "We tried, but then she killed herself too. So it made us see. There were so many of them. We needed to find help… to help them. So we went to England. London." She paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and went on. "England was a mistake." She said flatly. "Because you were everywhere. And you'd died."  
  
"Buffy…"  
  
She looked over at him. "No. Listen. I need to say this. What you did back there at the Hellmouth, it was… wonderful… you were wonderful. It was noble and brave and good and you were a hero… a champion." He looked away, shaking his head depreciatively. "No. Don't. Don't belittle what you did. But you know how I felt? Afterwards, when it was all over, when all the fuss died down and I was on my own and I had time to think, I hated you." Her eyes fell away. "I hated you because you left me. You told me you loved me but you didn't love me enough to live for me."  
  
"It wasn't like that." He stared at the ground, lost in the memories of fear and the stinging of his soul and the sudden clear calm knowledge of what he had to do and of fire and of pain and of nothingness. "It wasn't about you. It wasn't about anything – except maybe it was about me." He spoke carefully as if this was the first time he'd thought it through. "For the first time in as long as I can remember, love, it was about what I wanted to do for me. It was what I needed to do." He looked up at her with a puzzled frown. "Does that make sense?"  
  
"Yes." _You were a hero._ "I see that. I didn't say this was logical." _I didn't want you to be a hero, not if…_ "It was just… I told you I loved you." _And still you let yourself die… you let yourself die…_  
  
"But you didn't." His voice was calm. "You didn't love me."  
  
She looked at him, the lie trembling on her lips. Eventually she sighed. "I thought I did. No. You were right, what you said. I didn't love you - but I wanted to so much." She closed her eyes against the memory. "You deserved to be loved. I wanted what I was feeling to be love." She gave a small shake of her head. "But I couldn't love anybody, not really. I hadn't got… _time._" Her voice was bitter. "I've had a lot of time since." She said softly.  
  
"The Immortal." Spike pressed his lips together and looked away.  
  
"The Immortal?" Buffy's looked at him in confusion.  
  
"Time. Now you have time to… to love someone." Despite himself, he couldn't keep the hurt from his voice.  
  
"The Immortal? I don't love…" she felt a surge of panic. "You think…? I never loved him." _You have to believe me, Spike… it was never love… not for him…_  
  
He looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. The vulnerability in his eyes made her heart ache. "I thought you'd gone." She whispered. She closed her eyes against the prick of tears."I said I hated you. It was just… it was all so raw." She struggled to find the words. "How I felt – I just knew that whatever it was, it hurt so bad. And time went on and still it hurt but I began to see… I…" She hesitated, afraid of the words. "…understood. What I felt…really felt…" She shook her head. "And that hurt more." _Because it was too late… might still be too late…_  
  
"And now?" She could sense him watching her averted face, hear the tension in his voice.  
  
"And now, I need to know." She closed her eyes briefly, summoning the courage to ask, then turned to him. "I need to know what you want."  
  
He gave her a puzzled frown. "This isn't about what I want."  
  
"Yes, it is." Her voice was intense. "It's completely about what you want. Spike, look at me. Tell me what you want."  
  
He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. "I want… I want you to have what you wanted. A normal life. And," he looked down at his hands. "I want to be part of it. I want us to be together, to… make love, and fight, and have kids and grow old together. That's what I want." He gave a short, hard laugh, and looked up at her. "But I can't have it, Buffy. I'm a hundred plus years and a thousand plus sins beyond that. I can't give you a normal life. Someone else could."  
  
"Three out of five is good." She gave him a hesitant smile.  
  
He took her hands in his. "No. It isn't. You've got your chance to be normal. You don't need…" he dropped her hands, stood up and walked away from her. She watched the tenseness in his back as he picked up a stake from the coffee table, tossing it in his hand as he pulled together the words. "I can't give you a normal life. You know that. All I can offer you is this." He turned toward her and held his arms wide. "All I have…" His gave a bitter laugh. "I'm not Angel. I'm not gonna sit and brood and think about higher things until I forget what it's like to live. I'm not looking to earn some sort of redemption from some bloody stupid higher power by helping the helpless for the hell of it. I'll fight for what I believe in, for what I love." He looked at her intently for a moment, and then gave a small smile and shrugged. "And because it's bloody good fun. This is me, love. Not big with the deep thinking, or the careful judgment or the avoiding the fight. And not hardly normal."  
  
She looked at him for a long moment. "I know who you are. I don't want normal. I want you." She gave a small smile. "And I've kind of missed the fight."  
  
His eyes locked with hers. She held her breath, willing him to see – to really see – all she hadn't the words for. She watched the uncertainty fade from his eyes, watched sweet belief take hold, felt her own relieved smile mirror his. He nodded. "OK." He tossed the stake to her. "Wanna go kill something? Justice, puppies, Christmas – all that."  
  
She caught the stake one handed. He was looking at her, head tilted, a soft half-smile curving his lips. "No." She dropped the stake and walked over to him. She reached up to touch his cheek. "Dawn taught me something. Vita non est vivere sed."  
  
"Oh? Latin is it?" He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"There's things I'd rather be doing with my life right now." She slid her hands slowly down over his shoulders.  
  
"And that would be?" He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.  
  
"Spike… you… me… it's not going to be easy." She was finding it hard to think clearly, her whole body was aching for the feel of him, her heart thundering in her chest.  
  
"No." His hands trailed cool fire down her back.  
  
"There's a lot… we've been through a lot…" Her hands moved down over his chest, the familiar feel of him bringing surging warmth so intense she gasped.  
  
"Yes."  
  
She'd forgotten how blue his eyes were, _blue deep enough to lose your soul in…_"So from now on we talk." _Oh, god, if he kept touching her like that…_  
  
"Right."  
  
"Yes. New start." She gestured with a hand. "Moving on. Only together." _Oh, together… please…_ "No more trying to second guess everything. No more mixed signals."  
  
"Sounds good to me." A gentle smile. _So beautiful…_  
  
"Spike, the talking thing?" _I've missed you so much…_  
  
"Yeah?" His voice was deep, husky with emotion.  
  
_I need you…_ She gave in. "Could we maybe do that later and move straight to the kissing thing right now?"  
  
His lips were gentle on hers; hesitant, tender. She sighed against his mouth, twinned her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. And it felt good, so good, and honest and sweet, and she had never felt so open to anyone before, so tied to another, so aware of him, so totally lost in him. He was her life.  
  
And she'd almost lost him.  
  
She broke the kiss with a sob, pulled herself to him fiercely, pressed her face into his neck, breathing the familiar, bittersweet smell of him. Tears choked her, soaked his collar. "When you didn't come back again…"  
  
"I'm sorry…" he held her close, pressed his lips to her hair.  
  
"I couldn't bear it."  
  
"I'm here now."  
  
"I thought I'd lost you."  
  
"You'll never lose me."  
  
"Promise me."  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Tell me you love me."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"Tell me you want me."  
  
"I'll always want you."  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Hmm?" He ran his lips softly over her neck. She gasped at the breathtaking surge of emotions the touch of him brought.  
  
"Spike. Look at me." She took his face in her hands, raised his head until his eyes met hers. "I love you." She said softly.  
  
He looked at her for a long moment, blue eyes shining. "Yeah." He said eventually. "I know you do." And he bent to kiss her.


End file.
